If This Was A Movie
by madeofpurestarlightwrites
Summary: "Effie Trinket is at the peak of her career and everything seems to be going well in her relatively simple life. Haymitch Abernathy had been hiding from the spotlight for years, until his old friend decided he should get back to work again. The two meet in front of a camera and soon find out that the line bewteen what's real and pretend can be often very thin. Hayffie Actors AU"
1. Prologue

_"Effie Trinket is at the peak of her career and everything seems to be going well in her relatively simple life. Haymitch Abernathy had been hiding from the spotlight for years, until his old friend decided he should get back to work again. The two meet in front of a camera more-less out of necessity, and soon find out that the line bewteen reality and pretending can be often very thin. || Hayffie Actors AU"_

* * *

 _ **"PROLOGUE"**_

 _i._

NOW

His eyes were fixated on the phone that just kept ringing. It was _always_ ringing these days. The press was insistent but he wasn't planning on giving in. No wonder that people were curious - one would think that he'd never miss such an event. One would think he'd grab every opportunity. It was the same as after the press tour. Everybody wanted to know why he didn't come. Everybody wanted to know what all of this meant. How could he explain it to anyone if he didn't understand it himself?

He talked to Peeta earlier that day, right after he woke up. Peeta was the only person who could get him to actually respond to any attempt at contacting him. That was a bit of a surprise, really. Katniss seemed to be more understanding of the stance he took. The rest, not so much, but Peeta, if nothing else, at least didn't comment on his decisions, not until this morning when he left him a message on his home phone's answering machine to _immediately_ call him back, knowing well that all texts and e-mails would go without a notice.

"Are you sure?" the boy asked, uncertainity vibrating in his voice. "I mean, this is… a big thing."

"I'm totally sure," he retorted. "Stop trying to make me change my mind. I've had enough of that."

"You've talked to Plutarch yet?"

"He knows."

Peeta sighed on the other end of the phone. Haymitch could imagine him sitting on the twin-sized bed in his hotel room, the helpless teenage mess all around, different shirts he'd previously tried on, the crumpled up papers with the scripts for the interviews, piles of magazines, notebooks with various sketches and doodles. He kind of missed the kid, though he wasn't really planning on telling him that.

"And her?"

Haymitch snorted. "She doesn't care."

"I'd dare to disagree with that."

He closed his eyes and rest his head against the wall. For some reason, the sound that was the most prominent right now was the ticking of the clock in the main hall, and he found it ironic. It was no secret that he'd been running out of time lately. "Look, if she wanted me to go… she would have just asked me."

" _Haymitch_ ," hissed Peeta impatiently. "You didn't even give her a _chance_. It's not as though you left her with many choices, you know?"

"I don't care."

"Yes, you _do_ ," argued the boy, "that's your problem. You care a _lot_."

"What do you want from me?" snapped Haymitch, immediately regretting this sudden outburst. "Look, sorry, Peeta, but it is how it is. There's no point in… just, enjoy it, boy. It's your day. And Katniss'. You focus on yourselves, okay?"

"Okay." There was silence for a while. "Katniss misses you. We all do."

Haymitch chuckled bitterly, bringing the bottle to his lips. "You're better off like this."

Peeta sounded hesitant when he spoke. "What are you going to do now?"

"What I've been doing for the past twenty years, probably."

"That's not right, Haymitch. That's… a waste. After everything-"

"You can tell Plutarch that he failed again," Haymitch shrugged to himself, "I'm not built for this shit. And things happened. You don't need me there."

"We do, Haymitch, we _do_." A pause. "And she misses you."

He was very well aware that Peeta wasn't talking about Katniss this time, but he couldn't bring himself to respond to it. It's been the same thing, over and over, for _so_ many months. It felt as if for the past quarter a year, his world went grey again. He often shook his head at himself, but it kind of reminded him of the story where when you meet your soulmate, your world, previously just black and white, goes into color. When they leave, for whatever reason, the colors fade again. His world had been so devoid of color lately… his worst fear was slowly taking over him again. Once more, he was falling back to his old habits. Being drunk all day, falling asleep at random places, throwing sudden fits of anger, accompanied by destroying his house slowly and methodically, one breakdown at a time… he was slowly getting tired of all the dullness, but even more so, he was getting tired of having his world all lit up just for someone to make it go grey again.

And _even_ more so, he was getting tired of somehow always managing to _royally_ fuck up the only good thing in his life.

But that didn't matter now.

Nothing really mattered.

Peeta sighed again. "Look, I have to go. We've got some interviews. I just wanted to say thank you… for everything. You really… you still have time. If you want to come-"

"No."

"Are you going to watch?"

" _No_."

"Okay." He cleared his throat. "I will call you later, Haymitch. We'll come visit you. We'll bring Finnick and Johanna."

Haymitch smiled to himself, and he didn't know why, because the only thing he registered was the ugly sting in his chest when he noticed Peeta's sudden caution. "Take care, Peeta."

"I will. You do, too. The red carpet starts at four. Ceremony at five thirty. Just saying."

The call ended and Haymitch put the phone back to the cradle, but stayed in his place right beside it, staring at the wall in front of him, and he couldn't tell whether it had always been grey or if it had only gotten such a dreary hue lately. He stood there, and the phone didn't stop ringing for the next few hours, the sound resonating through his skull and vibrating in his bones, wafting through the empty halls. He decided to just let it ring.

 _ii._

 _March, New York City_

It actually all started with a phone call.

There weren't many phone calls in Haymitch's life. He prefered talking face to face, or, even better, not talking at all. The only people he still talked to were mostly people he couldn't really avoid speaking with, like the newspaper boy, constantly complaining about not getting paid in weeks, or his neighbour, a young pious guy who kept inviting him to garage sells or Bible reading or, most recently, the gardening club. He also once hinted the support group that met once a week in the church's basement, which basically consited of alcoholics, drug addicts and stray kids of the neighbourhood, sharing their heart-wrenching stories of becoming homeless, losing their jobs, turning to addictive substances. Haymitch took a great pleasure in turning him down, mostly because that man never seemed to take it personally, but Haymitch was used to the gentle shades of sarcasm going unnoticed.

Aside from that group of people, there was one person he stayed in touch with. Chaff often called him, usually to check if he hasn't died from overdose yet, update him on his life, and promise to visit soon, Haymitch then wouldn't hear from him for a few weeks, then he'd call again. Haymitch never called him first anymore.

But that call was different. When Haymitch picked up, still a bit dazed from yesterday's spree, he could tell something was wrong. It wasn't like Chaff to be this impatient. It wasn't like him to be this serious, either. He said that he was in Richmond and that the two needed to meet as soon as possible.

"Is something wrong?" he asked immediately.

"Nothing's wrong," was the cheerful but careful reply, "I just need to talk to you. Like, _soon_. When does it suit you?"

"Slow down," groaned Haymitch, gulping down his water with aspirin, "where are you?"

"On the airport, actually. I need somewhere to sleep over, I'm going to New York tomorrow. So, is tomorrow alright?"

"Yeah, I guess." Haymitch paused. "Why?"

"I'll explain it later," promised Chaff impatiently, "but it's important. So today at seven, at Sae's? As always?"

They met up at Sae's and ended up going to the airport the next morning.

New York on the break of March and April was unusually hot. Haymitch didn't like the city in general - people, cars, loud noises - but the weather took the cake. He was used to Virginia's harsh winters and warm summers, but the temperature jumps were still nothing compared to the North East. He looked out of the cab's window, the surroundings all bright banners, flashy billboards and busy crowds, and rolled it down, ignoring the driver's dirty look in the rearview mirror.

"So," he started, turning his look to Chaff who sat next to him, fanning himself with his newspapers, "are you _finally_ gonna tell me why we're here?"

"I already told you," his friend shrugged, "I've got a meeting."

Haymitch rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know, but I'd love to know what kind of meeting it is that you can't go there by yourself and have to drag me across the whole East Coast for it."

"I just like your company," said Chaff calmly, earning Haymitch's annoyed glare.

"Just for once do me a solid and cut the bullshit."

"You'll see."

Haymitch sighed and turned back to watching the Eight Avenue pass by, trying to think of the last time he visited the city. That could easily be over a decade ago. He didn't have many reasons to come here, as there wasn't much socializing in Haymitch's life in general. Plutarch Heavensbee was one of the people who never let the contact break for too long. He still lived in New York, that much Haymitch knew, and remembering it now, the last time he came over was because of him.

"We're here."

The cab abruptly stopped in front of a tall art deco building in Chelsea. Chaff pulled a crumpled twenty dollar note out of his jeans, handed it to the surly driver and got out, Haymitch following his example without bothering to roll the window up again. They stood there until the cab left, Haymitch feeling the annoyance slowly taking over him. "Chaff-"

"Let's just go," Chaff offered, leading Haymitch to the entrance.

They walked into the building, a spacey hall full of people welcoming them. There were three elevators, Chaff called one of them and they waited for it in silence, occasionally moving out of the way of a hurrying lawyer or some pissed off assistant. When Chaff visited Haymitch the day before, he looked really smug and Haymitch didn't like it. It took him some while to let Chaff convince him to come along. Generally, convincing Haymitch to leave the house was craft. There have been times when Chaff grew seriously worried.

"Have you ever thought about seeing a therapist?" he brought up one day.

"What the hell should I be seeing a therapist for?" grunted Haymitch in response.

"Well, you know…"

Of course Haymitch knew what Chaff was refering to. His drinking, his moods, his nightmares… sometime, a few years ago, Chaff decided that Haymitch was depressed. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't, in every case, his lifestyle was alarming at best and slowly but surely deadly at worst.

"You have trouble sleeping, you almost don't eat, basically don't go out, your house is a mess, you drink like a fish-"

"I'm _fine_ ," Haymitch cut him off, and that's how their first conversation on this topic ended, just like every single one after that. Chaff insisted that Haymitch just didn't want to accept that he _wasn't_ fine. The truth was, Haymitch knew it very well, he just didn't feel like doing anything about it. After all, a life in solitude was maybe unimaginable for someone as social and cheerful as Chaff, but Haymitch, who had always been more of a melancholic and the reasonable one, was glad everyone would finally leave him alone. For people in Seam, his hometown in Richmond suburbs, he was still the same. He considered moving back there, but his house in one of the newer neighbourhoods provided him enough of a safe place with its quiet and _emptiness_ , another thing Chaff thought wasn't helping things.

"Get a dog," he suggested.

Eventually, these suggestions stopped all together. It's been some time since the two saw each other, because Chaff still lived in Little Rock and still worked from time to time, mostly smaller roles - he eventually became more interested in production. Except for sending his best friend to a therapist, he also kept offering him jobs, but that had eventually stopped as well. But Chaff still wasn't giving up on Haymitch, not in the slightest. He kept looking out for him, even when it wasn't appreciated. And, actually, when he stopped by yesterday, Haymitch was kind of glad. Chaff's plans on taking a trip to New York didn't amaze him, but even he had to admit that just _maybe_ he'd been sitting in his dark kitchen with a book and a bottle for _too_ long.

Chaff watched him curiously as the elevator hurried to the eleventh floor. "Have you drank today?"

"No," Haymitch frowned. "But I'd get some, if you don't mind."

"Actually, I _do_ mind," his friend replied and walked out of the elevator. They found themselves in a long hallway collaged by glass doors leading to different offices and meeting rooms. Haymitch followed Chaff's lead, and it felt like minutes instead of just mere seconds before they stopped in front of a door with closed sunblinds from inside and the little shiny slab with the name Plutarch Heavensbee proudly engraved in it in a golden cursiva.

"Are you _fucking_ kidding me?"

Chaff sighed, slowly raising his hands in an apologetic gesture. "I know, I _know_ , sorry. But he asked me to bring you along."

Haymitch shook his head, turning to leave. It took a lot in him to manage it without saying something he'd regret saying later. "Thanks, I'll pass."

"Mitch-"

"Haymitch! Chaff!"

Haymitch turned back and the door flew open and Plutarch's tall, chunky figure appeared in the frame, a cup of coffee in one hand. His old friend looked still the same; the last time he saw him was almost three years ago, when he paid him a quick visit at his house when he was in Virginia for bussiness matters. His round face was lit up with a warm smile, his hearty eyes were flitting between the two men. "You came!" he disclaimed contentedly.

"Plutarch." Chaff shook Plutarch's hand quickly, a smile creeping on his lips. "Good to see you again."

"It's good to see _you_ , both of you!" Plutarch stepped back into his office to give them room to walk in. "I was worried you wouldn't make it- come in, make yourself at home!"

Chaff stopped in the doorframe, looking over his shoulder. Haymitch still stood in the hallway uncertainly, torn between staying and leaving. He was definitely going to have a talk with Chaff later. But Plutarch's eyes were on him, and as pissed off as he was, he did still hold some respect for Plutarch. _For the old times._

"You look like you saw a ghost, Haymitch," trilled Plutarch cheerfully, waving at him in an inviting gesture.

Finally, Chaff decided for him. He grabbed Haymitch's upper arm and didn't give him much choice before entering Plutarch's office and shutting the door behind them. The office wasn't too big, but it was quite airy and modern, dominated by wide windows that let perhaps _too_ much daylight in, and a huge mahogany desk in the centre with two comfortably looking armchairs in front of it. Haymitch dared to look at the walls only briefly. There were various scraps from newspapers, pictures of Plutarch with many famous people, photos from award shows, from sets, from interviews, and then there was, of course, the show-case. The Academy Award was standing there proudly, staring at Haymitch mockingly and he winced, rather choosing to look out of the window, glancing over Manhattan.

Plutarch gestured towards the chairs. "Sit down, I'll get you coffee, or tea, or maybe something stronger-"

"I'll have water," said Chaff and slumped down in the comfortable leather.

"I'll have something stronger," muttered Haymitch and did as Plutarch requested.

When Plutarch disappeared in the small attached kitchen, Chaff let out a heavy breath. "Look, Mitch, I'm _really_ sorry, but if I told you where we were going, you wouldn't have come."

" _Damn_ right I wouldn't have come," Haymitch growled, stabbing Chaff with his eyes. "You're working on something together?"

"Kinda."

" _Chaff_ -"

"So a glass water and a whiskey with soda," declared Plutarch as he returned, handing them their drinks and sat behind his desk, still smiling excitedly. "I can't believe we're finally here. Like the old times, don't you think?"

Chaff laughed wholeheartedly. That was what Haymitch somewhat adored about his best friend; how open and easygoing he could be, without being annoying like Plutarch or forced like himself.

"Things have changed, though," the oldest man continued. "Haymitch, I haven't heard of you in ages. What have you been up to?"

"Same old." Haymitch shrugged, emptying the glass in one gulp. The poke in his ribs by Chaff's elbow didn't go unnoticed, but he decided he was better off pretending it did. "Whatever is the reason I'm here, the answer is a _no_ , Plutarch. I thought I've made that clear years ago."

Plutarch sighed, but the smile didn't leave him. "Direct as always, I see. Look, Haymitch, I originally only wanted to meet up with Chaff. I didn't-" he hesitated, "I knew that you weren't interested. But this is _emergency_."

The urgent desire to reply with sarcastic snarks held onto Haymitch tightly. "What kind of emergency could it possibly be for you to come to _me_ for help?"

His face darkened. "Have you heard about the scandal regarding _CAPITOL_?"

"Yeah," Haymitch snorted. "Who hasn't? That old asshole got what he deserved and that's all the closure I need."

Plutarch scowled. "That is one way to put it."

"That's the way _I_ put it." Haymitch got up slowly, putting the fake politeness in his anger-soaked voice. "I'm out of here. Chaff, if you need me, I'm on a plane back to Richmond."

As he tried to slip past Chaff, he grabbed his arm, effectively stopping him.

"I swear to God, Chaff-"

"Just… listen. You never listen." He narrowed his big dark eyes at Haymitch, tugging at the sleeve of the shirt that once upon a time probably had a nice deep shade of blue. "Maybe you should at least give this a shot."

"I'm _not_ going to give this a shot. _I'm done with this._ How many times do I have to _fucking_ tell you that?"

Plutarch's pale blue eyes caught Haymitch's gaze, and if he didn't know better, he'd think Plutarch felt _guilty_. He tapped at the wooden desk lightly with his short fingers, furrowing his brows almost pleadingly. "Haymitch… you may think that it's unfair of me, and it probably is. But I really need your help. Sit down, please. Things are not good."

"Always melodramatic." Haymitch wrenched his arm out of Chaff's fingers. "What's the deal, Plutarch? Just spill it out. You need help. With what? You ran out of staff or what?"

The answer was a hesitant nod. "Yes. Acutally, yes."

His eyebrows shot up. "Do tell."

Plutarch apparently decided there was no point in stretching it out anymore and so there was nothing upbeat about his words when spoke. "Seneca Crane is dead. He hung himself a week ago. He was the lead in my new movie."

"I'm sorry," Haymitch uttered and shuffled his feet, still not decided whether to sit down or to slowly head for the door. He hated the way the small spark of curiosity stopped his legs from carrying him as far away from this whole mess as possible.

"Yes, it was very sad." Plutarch looked out of the window melancholically. "He had a funeral two days ago. We're all mourning, but as… _morbid_ as it seems, I have to get to work. I need his replacement. In a matter of days, basically. That's why I called Chaff. He co-products the movie and I asked him if he knows about someone who could take the part. The studio started auditions again, but it's unlikely that anyone would just drop _everything_ all of a sudden, grab a screenplay and move to Italy for three months."

Haymitch caught Chaff's steady gaze. "Why _me_?"

"Because I've got two weeks." Plutarch sighed heavily and started massaging his forehead as if he had a severe headache. He seemed spent. Haymitch wasn't really buying his little performance, but if what he was saying was true, then he actually could feel bad for Plutarch. It was fucked up. "I've got two weeks to find a lead for the movie, or the studio cancels it. I've got everything settled. The people are ready, everything is already paid. It's not easy. We could move the shooting, of course, but Coin doesn't want to wait anymore. We've already moved it once, before we got the lead actress. It took us a long time to find two people with the right chemistry, you know? I don't want to cast just _anyone_ , but if I ever want it to happen at all… well, I don't have much choice, do I?"

The room became silent. Haymitch stubbornly studied the collection of golden brooches on the wall behind the desk and processed the information. So Plutarch Heavensbee was making a movie that Chaff produced and which's lead killed himself just a few days ago, and his body wasn't even cold yet and Plutarch was already looking for a replacement. He couldn't say he was surprised, really. It was all about the business with Plutarch Heavensbee.

"Look," he spoke slowly, "I'm sorry about this. It's a fucked up situation. But I can't help you. I don't act anymore, and I definitely can't _drop everything, grab a screenplay and move to Italy for three months."_

"Yes, you can," Chaff mingled in. " _You_ can. You don't act anymore, Mitch, and it's not as though you've got hands full. I think you could use a distraction."

"Here we are again," Haymitch growled. "Will you ever just _stop_ trying to make me do shit I don't wanna do, just because it's for my _own good_?"

"Probably no," the other man retorted, "because you're my best friend and you're _fucked up_. And somebody who you happen to owe a favor to also happens to need your help."

The two stared at each other as the tension built and Plutarch cleared his throat to prevent any further argument. "Of course, I can't make you do anything, Haymitch. But we're short of time and you could be… well, nothing is sure now, and the auditions may bring some fruit, but it's highly unlikely and right now, you're my only hope."

Haymitch looked out of the window again, mostly because he really didn't want to look into either man's eyes. "Who's that Coin you were talking about?"

"Alma Coin. _PANEM_ , her company, sponsors and produces the movie. She's… well, you've probably met warmer people, but she's good at what she's doing. She knows how it works."

"Yeah, me too." Haymitch snorted bitterly, finally looking back at Plutarch. The aniticipation in his old friend's eyes was making him feel pressed and uneasy. "Sorry, Plutarch. I can't help you."

He turned slowly, heading for the door. He heard Chaff's annoyed sigh and the rustling of clothes as he got up to follow him out of the door. It was Plutarch's voice, calm but raspy, that stopped him in his tracks. He looked over his shoulder to see Plutarch has already stood up, too. "Can you promise me you'll at least think about it?"

"I can't promise you anything," he replied simply and left the office without uttering another word with Chaff at his heels.

Once they were in a good distance from the door, Haymitch nearly punched the elevator button, feeling like Chaff's glare could burn him to the ashes.

"What the fuck was that, Chaff?"

"What the fuck was _that_ , Haymitch?" Chaff shook his head at him. "Look, I get it, it's all too much at once, it's out of the blue, and I get that it wasn't in your short-term plans-"

"It wasn't in _any_ plans," Haymitch interrupted him, pissed off. "This was the worst fucking idea _ever_."

Chaff sighed heavily. "He needs help, you can give him that. You _owe_ him that."

"I don't owe anyone anything," Haymitch growled slowly. "The less _him_ or anyone else from this bullshit fair. I didn't spend almost twelve fucking years leaving it all behind just for somebody to drag me back into this crap and rub the past in my face."

"Nobody's rubbing the past in your face, Haymitch," his friend tried to placate him, though he was obviously running out of patience, too. "I'm just saying it how it is. Just look at it from our point of view. He was right, where do you want to find an actor who can just board a plane and leave for quarter a year?"

"I don't know, Chaff, but the key word here is _actor_. I'm not that anymore." The elevator finally arrived and when the door opened, Haymitch walked in quickly and scowled at Chaff. "Go back and tell him all my apologies, I'm leaving now."

Chaff sighed again and ran his right palm over his face. He looked exhausted but Haymitch felt no grief for him. He was too mad for that. "At least think about it."

He didn't answer and they just glared at each other until the elevator door slowly closed.

 _iii._

NOW

She told herself she wouldn't care.

She told herself she wouldn't beg.

She told herself she wouldn't _reach_.

And she didn't beg and she didn't reach, but that didn't mean she didn't care.

They haven't talked in… she wasn't sure. It was over six months since they saw each other. The call in November sealed the deal and she hasn't heard from him since. Her pride was stopping her from bombing him with attempts at contacting him, but she felt stuck. She kept asking people about him. She tried to be unobtrusive about it, she masked it as mere politeness, but she wasn't fooling anyone. Not even herself, and that was news, because above anything else, Effie Trinket was _great_ at fooling herself. It was kind of her thing.

But nobody knew how he was anyway. He didn't talk to anyone. The only person who knew something was Chaff and he didn't tell her anything. He was just trying to keep peace, and she knew that he didn't hold any grudges against her, he was _Haymitch's_ friend in the first place, after all. She was just glad to know that Haymitch had someone who wouldn't allow him to let himself completely go.

Portia's long nails dug into her shoulder as she squeezed it lightly. "Effie?"

She smiled brigthly and her eyes darted to the clock on the wall. "Is the limousine here already?"

"In two minutes." Her friend watched her cautiously. "Effie, is everything okay?"

" _Of course_ it is, dear." Effie got up. She met her own eyes in her dressing table's big lit up mirror. To her relief, she looked good. At least, not as bad as she was worried she would. She hadn't slept much and barely ate in the last few days, she was tired, but overall, she looked _good_. Portia did an amazing job as always. A sad smile stretched her red-painted lips. Too bad she had no one to impress there. "The make-up is beautiful, Portia. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Portia cleared her throat softly. "I'll wait in the lobby, okay?"

"Okay."

The second the door fell closed behind her, the clicking sound of her heels echoing through the Four Seasons' hallway, she finally breathed free.

She checked her phone - it was her new obsession, a habit she had developed lately. She turned off her notifications, so when she took a look, there were tons of unread emails, many texts from seemingly everyone she didn't want to talk to - her mother, her publicist, Plutarch, Coin, press… Peeta's name was standing out like a lone star in a moonless night and her heart skipped a beat, then another one, and the tiny flame of hope rose in her chest, but then her shaking fingers opened the message.

Just _what exactly_ was she thinking?

 _You fool_ , she scolded herself, _you foolish, foolish woman._

What did Snow tell her fifteen years ago?

 _A little hope is effective. A lot of hope is dangerous. A spark is fine, as long as it's contained._

And Effie Trinket was good at fooling herself. She was good at many things.

But _God_ , she was _no_ good at containing that spark.

* * *

 _Hi there! So, thank you for reading the first chapter of this new story I recently came up with and that I'm actually rather excited and also kinda nervous about. It started as a one-shot, but it eventually developed into a more complex plot. You'll see a bit more of Katniss and Peeta here, to make up for Till Death Do Us Part where they're mostly going to be just supporting characters. Also, there are two timelines, NOW and THEN, with absolute majority of the story taking place in the past, and we'll go back to the present in the very ending. I hope you enjoyed it, and I wish you all a beautiful day. x_


	2. A Little Persuation

_/ While Effie Trinket is Hollywood's darling and all her dreams seem to be finally coming true, Haymitch Abernathy is drinking himself into an early grave and shuts the world out completely. However, Plutarch Heavensbee decides it's time for his comeback. The two main stars can't stand each other and tension builds up soon, but as they dive in deep into this project, somewhere between shooting love scenes, fighting on-set, fighting off-set, opening up hesitantly and helping their younger colleagues deal with everything this world brings, they grow closer and closer, until one day they realize they're not pretending anymore. | Hayffie Actors AU /_

Author's note: Hey guys! I haven't been on for a solid month, I was busy with school and personal stuff, but it's holidays now and I'm back with this story of which I have posted the prologue sometime back in September and the feedback was nice, so I decided that I'm going to keep working on this - I've got some ideas stuck in my head and I just love this universe for them, sooo… that's it, enjoy! And merry Christmas/happy holidays! x

* * *

 ** _"A LITTLE PERSUATION"_**

 _i._

 _March, New York_

Sheraton Hotel's beds were soft and Haymitch woke up aching all over, including the unmistakable pulsing in his temples accompanied by a pressure somewhere behind his forehead and tremors that wouldn't go away for the next few hours - sure signs of a hangover that he'd learned to face and cope with over the many years with the ease of a full-blown alcoholic after his transition from an occasional drinker to a legit durnk took significantly faster speed than expected. It started out innocently, later there would be withdrawals, something he'd probably have to go through very soon again, because he could imagine Chaff wouldn't be exactly happy about what happened yesterday.

Which brought him to the question, _what happened yesterday?_ He opened his eyes. Creamy curtains, white walls, deep red carpets. It wasn't his bedroom and it definitely wasn't a hotel room he'd pick for himself, and then he wondered why he even needed one in the first place. It was probably his friend's doing, after he'd discovered him in that godforsaken pub somewhere on Manhattan, and then he remembered. New York. Plutarch. The unfortunate meeting.

He groaned into the pillow and closed his eyes again, but Chaff, who probably spent the entire night right next to him like a watchdog in case he started choking on his own vomit or something like that, seemed to have had already noticed and Haymitch heard his footsteps, muted by the fluffy carpets, getting closer. It startled him badly when something wet and cold landed on his bare back, and he quickly rose up on his forearms and looked up, right into Chaff's half-annoyed, half-amused dark eyes.

"Shit," Haymitch muttered, turned around and sat up. The wet and cold thing turned out to be a soaked towel, but he was more concerned with the fact that he was in nothing but his underwear, that also contained some unpleasantly-looking stains. He smelled pretty bad, too. "Is there something I should know?"

"That you shouldn't drink," Chaff deadpanned. "But we already know that."

Haymitch ran a palm down his face. "What happened last night?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"I don't know…" His brain wasn't cooperating. His last clear memory was walking into that pub and ordering a Jack Daniel's. As per usual. "You dragging me into a cab."

Chaff snorted. "I remember that too, and I think that driver won't forget it, either."

Haymitch glared at him, suddenly annoyed with his friend's demeanor. If Chaff could just take a fucking break and use some common sense, he wouldn't drag him to New York, lie to him the entire time, and he _definitely_ wouldn't have pushed him straight into the shark tank in the form of having to politely send Plutarch Heavensbee to go screw himself. He had every right to storm out of there and then go get as shit-faced as he pleased. He was _angry_ , and that anger he tried to drink away yesterday was the very same anger that turned him completely awake. What Chaff did smelled like betrayal to him, though he knew he meant well, because Chaff wasn't the kind of person to push you into things for his own benefit.

But it wasn't exactly fair of him, either.

"Where are my clothes?" he realized.

"Don't flatter yourself," Chaff said jokingly when he saw Haymitch's expression and handed him a clean shirt that was previously thrown over one of the chairs. "I won't even be exaggerating if I say that you literally covered every street on Manhattan in everything you ate and drank last week. But I think that shirt was past its prime anyway."

"Fuck you."

Haymitch got up carefully. It was a good sign that his head wasn't spinning nearly enough for him to need to lean onto any furniture for support. It was a bad sign that he apparently haven't left _everything_ he had drank and eaten in the streets, so he got to the bathroom just in time. When he was finished and got back to his feet without much trouble, he turned on the faucet, rinsed his mouth thoroughly and splashed his face with ice cold water.

His bedroom was connected with the spacey living room with a slide door, where he found Chaff sitting in one of the big armchairs with a breakfast for two - scrambled eggs with vegetables, some pastry, a cup of coffee, orange juice in elegant slim glasses and a bowl of fresh fruits. He was tapping something into his phone and only looked up when he felt Haymitch's presence in the room. "Hey, put something on. We've got a lady over here."

"What?" Haymitch was so caught up in his own misery that he didn't even notice her, which was peculiar considering what a sight she was. Right next to the fireplace was standing a woman. She had her hair blowed in voluminous waves and her clothes, without a doubt expensive and probably designer, were screaming with colors - her suit consisted of a deep pink jacket with a matching skirt that was a bit too tight in all the right places and a silky blouse in a wild srping green hue. On top of all that, there were loubutins matching her blouse that were making up for what she lacked in height. When she saw him, her face went from excited to almost disappointed.

"You're Haymitch Abernathy," she said tonelessly.

"Got me," he replied carefully, only now realizing his rather urgent state of undress.

She loured and folded her arms on her chest which brought his attention to her cleavage.

"You shouldn't stare," she commented in a stentorian voice. "It's generally considered rude. So is walking around your guests half-naked."

"I don't remember inviting any guests here," he retorted and looked up to meet her eyes, really blue even from some distance.

She sighed and turned to Chaff who shrugged without much sympathy. "At least introduce yourself, doll. He's all yours then."

"I am _invoking_ that nickname," she snarled, but held out her hand nevertheless. "Your ruffian of a friend is right, I was being impolite, I'm sorry. Effie Trinket. I am sure you've heard that name."

"Yeah, you guessed that," Haymitch chuckled and ignored her outstretched hand. "Not ringing any bells, sorry, sweetheart."

Effie Trinket raised one of her perfect eyebrows in what must have been the shock self-centred people feel when they realize the world doesn't revolve around them, but recovered quickly. She scowled even more than before and kept her hand in offer. "Are you going to shake my hand or not?"

Haymitch shrugged. "Probably not."

It was fun to watch the flames slash in her eyes. He had been in her presence for less than a minute and he was already convinced he had finally found the human version of a headache, but it was entertaining to rile her up and he decided to continue in it.

"Who are you, again?"

"Effie Trinket," she repeated, clearly vexed.

Haymitch rolled his eyes. "I caught that stupid name the first time, that's not what I'm asking. I wanna know what you're doing here, and what the hell makes you think you can boss me around."

"Do you always insult people when you first meet them?" She looked up and down at him in what was supposed to be a dismissive manner, but her eyes lingered on his chest for a little too long, and when she realized it, she quickly blinked and looked away, which prompted him to laugh again.

"Enjoying the view?" he smirked at her. "It's generally considered rude to stare, sweetheart."

Effie puffed and her hands curled into small fists that she placed on her hips. "I am _asking_ you to _not_ call me by your patronizing nicknames anymore, _both_ of you."

Chaff, who had been watching the two in sheer amusement, chose this moment to mingle in. "This ain't my doing, buddy. Blame Plutarch."

"Plutarch?" Haymitch frowned in Effie's direction. "What does Plutarch have to do with this?"

"So _that_ name _does_ ring some bells?" she smiled coldly. "He said he asked you to think about accepting the role. And that there might be some convincing needed."

He snorted. "Well, if _this i_ s that convincing you're supposed to do here, trust me, it ain't working."

Her eyes widened comically in a sudden realization of something. "You _really_ don't know me?"

"He only turns his TV on during elections," explained Chaff jokingly and waved it off. "Haymitch, this lady is the female lead."

Effie quickly humored. "Are you _please_ going to put something on, so we can have a decent conversation? I find your lack of clothes quite improper."

Haymitch crossed his arms and shot her a glare. "Still bossy, I see. I like it just the way I am, to be honest, sweetheart. Both my lack of clothes and my lack of a reason to spend more time with you."

Effie moved closer to him which startled him at first - and he had no shame in that, she seemed a bit nuts, and he was practically _naked_ -, but she just walked past him to one of the armchairs where her bright yellow handbag was rested. Seriously, who was dressing this woman? Not that he minded her choice of skirt, though, because the view she offered him when she bent over to go look for something in her handbag was quite pleasing. Unfortunately, she straightened up suddenly and turned around. She was handing him something - a thin volume of papers of a well-known format and shape.

"The script," she stated and when he didn't take it, she walked to him. She did keep her distance, but her sweet perfume still overwhelmed him. "Take it."

Haymitch raised his brows in amusement and his eyes fluttered between Effie and Chaff. "No."

" _Take it_ ," Effie repeated.

He whisked it out from her fingers and rolled his eyes at her. "See, I'm holding it. Happy?"

"Not yet," Effie said. "Open it and read it."

"You don't know anything," Chaff backed her up. "You haven't read the script, you don't even know what this whole thing is about. It's not fair to just decline without even knowing what you're declining."

Haymitch snorted dismissively. "I know exactly what I'm declining. I have my reasons."

Chaff sighed heavily and took a sip from his cup of coffee, a small china thing that seemed quirkily inappropriate in his huge hand and looked more like something people of Effie's sort drank their tea from with a pointed pinky. "I just think you should at least give it a chance. Read just a bit of the script. Take it home with you, take your time, but don't be like this."

"Like what?"

"A stubborn little shit. Don't do it for me, don't do it for Plutarch, do it for yourself."

"I'm leaving tomorrow," Haymitch shrugged. "Guess you're not coming along."

Chaff winced. "I'm staying 'til Tuesday. Plutarch needs help."

Haymitch gave him a side eye. "Don't try to make me feel guilty."

"And _are_ you feeling guilty?"

"I don't know, should I?"

Chaff hesitated. "I still think you should get some time to make up your mind."

"I already _have_ made up my mind, Chaff," Haymitch contended. "Are you done? I wanna take a shower."

He turned on his heel and headed for the bedroom, slammed the door behind him and turned the key.

"Come back!" Effie yelled at him through the door and knocked at it heavily.

"Don't think I won't just kick you out of here," he growled, but didn't take any action. This woman was so fucking annoying, but damn it if she wasn't admirable for the level of pure determination she was displaying. Or maybe she was just dumb and still didn't get it, but he thought he had never seen a woman so stubborn and sure about herself. She came here to get things done and she was going to get them done - and he was going to take a great pleasure in making it impossible for her and watching her lose that unshakable certainity that she was the one calling the shots here. Truth be told, he vaguely liked it. There was something about women who made life difficult for him that brought him to them, but this one was something else.

He wouldn't work with her even if they held a gun at his head.

Which, he realized, she might be capable of.

"We're not done yet," she informed him.

"Sure," Haymitch muttered.

He located the shirt Chaff had given him and pants that were still thrown over the chair and put them on. His wallet and phone weren't there, and he didn't have any hygiene supplies here, either. He supposed his belongings had been taken care of by Chaff, and opted for simply washing his face and rinsing his mouth again. When he walked out of the bathroom, he unlocked the door only to find her still standing there in front of it with folded arms and burrowed eyebrows.

"Chaff," he chose to ignore her and turned to the other man instead, "where's my stuff?"

"In your jacket," Chaff replied blankly. "You're going anywhere?"

"Yeah, I gotta get some fresh air." Haymitch moved past Effie who glared at him intensly and took the jacket of the hook next to the main door and slipped into it, then put on his shoes. "I don't know when I'll be back, so just go on as usual. It was awesome to meet you, sweetheart," he grunted towards Effie, threw the script at her which she to his disappointment managed to catch, and left the room, only to hear the clicking of her high heels resonating through the hallway.

"I said that we're not done yet," she hissed and followed him, though she had a lot of work with keeping up with his long strides. "You are acting like a child."

"And you are acting like a bitch," he retorted and nearly punched the elevator button. He turned to her, her furious face uncomfortably close to his. "Are you gonna wait with me or what?"

"I might," she cringed. "May I suggest a mint?"

He chuckled and turned away from her when the elevator came. He walked in first, prompting her to mutter something about him probably being raised in a barn, and then the door closed behind them, trapping them in the small space. The elevator ride was completely silent, because she was too busy giving him a death stare and he was too busy openly ignoring her while trying not to choke on her perfume. The scent was sweet, flowery and overwhelming, not in a pleasant way. It was freeing to flee the elevator, pass the reception and run out in the street, but she was _still_ behind him.

"Look, lady," he lashed out, "I know what you want, and the answer is _no_ , just like it was yesterday, just like it will be tomorrow. It's not my problem, alright?"

Effie looked like she might explode for a second, but then her eyes fell somewhere behind his shoulder and her expression changed. He looked back to find a photographer a few yards from them, pointing the lenses at them.

"The paparazzi," she stated calmly, but it was obvious it upset her. Suddenly, she grabbed his wrist and tugged, but Haymitch was a lot stronger than her and chose to firmly stand his ground. "Come on," she urged, "let's go."

"Where?" he raised his brows at her as if she was mad.

She frowned at him and pulled at his wrist again. "You skipped your breakfast because of me. I am inviting you for one."

If she just needed to get out from the street, he probably would have left her to her fate, but he _did_ skip breakfast and his stomach was on water again. The idea of spending more time with her was frustrating, but maybe if he gave her at least something she wants, she'd leave him alone, so he looked over his shoulder again, and when he saw the guy coming closer, he just shrugged and let her drag him towards a big black SUV parked right in front of them.

Effie got in on the driver's side and he took the passenger's seat. He watched her discreetly and noticed her trembling fingers when she started the car.

"You're okay?" Haymitch asked, not sure why he cared.

"Of course I am," she responded absent-mindedly but looked into the rearview mirror with clear anxiety. Whatever it was that was making her so nervous, she wasn't eager to tell and he decided he didn't need to know. One might wonder, if she was so surprised that he didn't know her, she'd be famous enough to be used to people taking pictures of her on the streets, or to people reacting to her in general. "Fasten your seatbelt, please," she chimed in.

"People don't like bitchy chicks, sweetheart," he grunted, but did as she told him.

"Unfortunately, I don't have a driver right now," she told him glumly, "so I have to do this myself. I haven't driven in years, I'm still getting used to it, so I'm sorry if-"

She depressed the brake violently as she almost drove in the way of a cab.

"Well, if this happens," she giggled awkwardly.

Effie's driving style was anxious and headlong, and by the time she had found a place in a parking lot of some Manhattan restaurant a few minutes later, he felt like a mountain had fallen off his shoulders, happy to find himself whole and alive. She apparently headed here often, as the service knew her and he was almost sure she wasn't the kind of person to let just anyone come over and casually say HI to her. He was aware that people were staring at them, and he probably got even more attention than her. After all, people here were used to famous people, but not to hungover former stars with overgrown hair and three-day stubble, reeking like vomit and hotel soap.

It's been a long time since someone actually recognized him on the street or in a store as someone they knew from movie screens or magazine covers. His house was strategically placed in the loneliest and emptiest Richmond district, close to Seam, his hometown in the suburbs, where he used to come and visit his old friends. It was bittersweet to go back, because for some people, he was still the same and nobody gave his bank account status or juicy Hollywood gossip a thought, but the other half, now a majority, have become close-minded and disapproved of everything about him. Some people saw him as someone who took the easy way out of the small mining-based town, some saw him as a savory grinded up by the business and his visits grew unwelcomed, so they became less and less frequent, until one day, he decided he didn't have a reason nor a need to come back anymore.

They have been given a table on the terrace where they found themselves as the only guests, and were granted with a nice view of the city.

"I'll have a vegan omelette and a Viennese coffee," she gave her order to a young boy in a white shirt and tux pants.

"And you, sir?" the boy asked, watching him with some puzzlement.

"Scrambled eggs and black coffee. No milk, no sugar," Haymitch said and gave him the menu back.

When the boy left them alone, Effie sighed contently. "We should have some privacy here. This is my favorite place in New York. The view is beautiful. And the paparazzi won't be bothering us anymore."

"You could have at least told me we were going to the most snobbish place in all of East Coast," he muttered, glancing down at his shabby pants and dirty shoes.

She smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry. However, I'm surprised you care what they think about you."

"I don't care what they think about me, but have you seen the prices here?"

" _I_ invited _you_ ," she reminded him. "And while I think it's not the most proper thing in the world for a lady to pay for a man, I suppose desperate times call for desperate measures."

Haymitch chuckled in amusement. "So you buy me a breakfast and I do what you ask me to, right?"

"You know," Effie brought the script out of her handbag again and passed it to him over the table, "Plutarch has been thinking about you since the beginning. He really wanted you for this role, but knew you'd decline. Even your friend told him it was a waste of time. And I must say, the idea of working with you seemed appealing, but I was not surprised to hear that you might need a little persuation."

"So that guy's death was basically convenient, you're saying?"

" _No_ ," she narrowed her eyes, "I am _definitely_ not implying that. It was… it was a tragedy, for everyone."

He shurgged. "But Plutarch recovered quicky."

"I was told you're a pragmatic," she kept glaring at him, "and so is he. He has a lot of responsibility. Cancelling the shooting would cost over a double of what is already invested in it, and that's not something he can afford if he wants Alma Coin and her studio to ever produce a movie for him again. You were his last hope, so to speak. Nobody is exactly thrilled, but if you think about it from a business point of view, he basically couldn't ask for anything better, really. A fallen star who has come back to save the day. After so many years, the publicity you and this project would get is-"

"Something I definitely don't want," Haymitch interruped her. "I'm not interested in that. It's just about the money, and I'm done being a milch-cow."

"It's _not_ just about the money, Mr. Abernathy," she argued.

"Haymitch," he mumbled, "call me Haymitch."

"It should be the woman-" Effie sighed and waved it off. "My point is… you called yourself a milch-cow, but think about it differently."

"And that means?"

"That means," she tapped at the script importantly, "there is more to it than just publicity and gain."

Haymitch's eyes fell down on the script provokingly laid in front of him. " _Wildest Dreams_ ," he read the name out loud. Plutarch's name was right under it in smaller letters. "He wrote this himself?"

"Yes," she humored. "Take a look at it."

"What is it about?"

"Star-crossed lovers."

"You're shitting me?"

Effie clicked her tongue in disapproval. "Mind your language, please."

He rolled his eyes. "Sorry, sweetheart. Forgot your precious ears were that delicate."

"You are enjoying aggravating me, aren't you?" she inquired, but continued, decided to not give him the satisfaction of getting her off the track. "It is set in Italy during war. The main characters are a couple from Amercia who want to start a life there, but they happen to become the leaders of a revolt in their town. He gets abducted one day and she thinks that he is dead, but he comes back, twenty years later." She looked over the city panorama. "Plutarch has a keen sense of drama, you know?"

"I noticed," Haymitch affirmed. He was still eyeing the script between his fingers suspiciously, as if it would jump at his throat and try to bite him every second. Torn between opening it and throwing it away, he was glad then the young waiter came with their food and coffee.

They started eating in silence, but, to Haymitch's great disappointment, it didn't last long because Effie Trinket wasn't the type of person who could stay quiet for longer than a few minutes.

"You see," she started, "if it's the attention that comes along with it that bothers you, you can ask the production company for a contract that would not require you to attend the public events. You can even decline giving interviews. I mean, I'm not really sure if Coin would be too happy about it, and she has expressed her doubts, but I'm sure she would be willing to compromise."

"I haven't said _yes_ ," Haymitch reminded her gloomily.

Effie put her fork down and leant against the chair's back, obviously deciding what card to play next. "You don't know me, but does the name Katniss Everdeen say anything to you?"

He was about to say no, but then he realized that might not be completely true. _Katniss Everdeen_ wasn't a name you'd hear on every corner and he had a vague feeling that he _should_ know that name from somewhere, but he couldn't recall from where exactly.

"Maybe," he admitted.

"She's from Richmond, like you," Effie said.

Then he realized - there were some Everdeens in Seam. A long time ago, when he was still regularly coming back to visit Hazelle and the others, they were living just a few blocks from where his childhood house was, in the older part of the town close to the mines. They had two little girls and Jason Everdeen was a miner. He couldn't remember his wife's name, but he remembered her from the local health center. He also knew that Jason Everdeen died in a mine accident a few years ago - Haymitch knew that because his former classmate died there, too.

"Yeah, I know her," he confirmed. "What's with her?"

"She's one of the main protagonists. Actually, she plays the main role, split with me."

Haymitch had never seen Katniss, but he thought that if she started acting, he would know that. Seam was a small town where gossip spread quickly, and someone would surely tell him. Hazelle, maybe. She had a son in about Katniss' age. But maybe it was foolish of him to rely on that anymore. "Split with you?"

"You see," Effie explained, "she plays the younger version of my character."

"Did they have a lot of work uglying her up?" he taunted.

She left it without a comment. "Peeta Mellark plays opposite her. A talented boy."

Haymitch shrugged. "So?"

"Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to read a bit of the script," she suggested and took a sip of her coffee nonchalantly.

"What if I tell you I'm really not interested?"

"What if I tell you I don't take no for an answer?"

Haymitch left his food be and looked over the early morning New York. People were rushing to get somewhere, the driveways were flooded with taxis and the pavements were hidden under busy crowds who never stopped to take a break. The weather, still unusually hot for April, promised a nice spring day. Had he been at home, he probably would have spent the whole day inside. In the end, it didn't feel that bad to be sitting here on this terrace with a cup of coffee and a breakfast and watch the lives of other people like they used to watch him on a TV screen. This new confrontation with what he had almost definitely put behind him wasn't as scary as it should have been - it was worse in other ways. First, it shocked him, then it angered him, but today it only made him contemplate all the _what if_ s of the past years.

He didn't want to go back to this. He didn't want this life, because this life wasn't for him anymore. He's had enough of all the sham, of all the bullshit. It wasn't a job for him, and it wasn't what his heart desired, either. But what his heart desired was a worse faith than death, or at least that's how Chaff used to put it. Slow rotting in a dark and empty house, with just as dark and empty soul. That was the tax for solitude.

"The studio would, of course, pay you well," Effie brought up.

"You're not gonna lure me in with money, I've got more of it than I need."

"Really? You don't have a job."

"But I've got savings. Look, this is all nice… Effie," he tasted that name for the first time, "but it's not for me."

Effie sighed softly and finished her coffee. Their meals had already gotten cold. "I can't make you do anything against your will, Mr. Abernathy- _Haymitch_. Nobody can. But if you change your mind, you will be our first choice. Here," she brought a business card out of her purse, "this is Coin's phone number and email adress…" she handed him another one, "and these are mine. You have Plutarch's contact, so if-"

"Stop it," he interjected. "Stop trying. You're wasting everyone's time."

"I have already cracked you," she told him with more certainity than she was entitled to in her situation.

Haymitch snorted. "Sure." He pulled out a flask from his jacket - Chaff must have missed it, because he never would have let him take it along - and took a swig. "How about this?"

"You're an alcoholic, we all know that," Effie replied coldly. "And it will definitely be a subject of discussion."

"There will be no dicussion about this," he got up and she watched him with narrowed eyes. He didn't know why, but he picked up the script and glanced over it. Before he could change his own mind, he slid the chair back into the table and put the script back down. "Thanks for the breakfast."

Instead of getting angry, Effie's fork clinked against the plate as she started eating again. "You're welcome."

As he rushed from the terrace, this time, he truly ignored the stares and didn't even bother with saying goodbye to a waiter he walked past. Cracked him, _his ass_. She must have been completely delusional to think she had _cracked_ him.

But, still, with Chaff's insistence and her systematic persuation, what seemed so decided just an hour ago was now seriously creeping into his mind and there was a lot of thinking ahead of him against his own will. What if what that crazy woman had said wasn't THAT insane on the long run, and what if Chaff had a point or two, too?

What if the old debt had finally come back to bite his ass?

 _ii_

The first thing he did when he got back to the hotel was to order a bottle of whiskey into his room. The second thing was to Google Effie Trinket.

When he said he didn't know her, it wasn't exactly true. She was sort of all over the place - in magazines, in TV series, in commercials. He must have seen her face already, but didn't connect it with the woman he had met this morning. Her career was pretty fruitful - tons of awards and nominations, dozens of movies in the past fifteen years. She had started acting a few years before he stopped, started out as a model, then went to New York and starred in over ten plays on Broadway. According to her Wikipedia, she was 35, came from Denver, but lived in Los Angeles, had a sister in the modeling field, and was currently going through an ugly and media monitored break-up, though he from his own experience knew better than to take everything for a fact.

Haymitch quickly looked through her filmography and his stomach made a flip when he found the latest project, _Wildest Dreams_. He clicked at it and took a swing from the bottle. The status was pre-production, a state it might stay in for a long time. That brought him to Seneca Crane's page. According to the rumors, the reasons for his sudden suicide were everything from huge debts to a broken heart. Apparently, him and Effie had once been a thing. He chose to ignore it. He wasn't one to buy cheap gossip.

He went back and looked at the cast. Katniss Everdeen really was the Katniss he thought. She was from Seam, went to a high school in Richmond and started acting when she was eleven. That was the year her father had died. Since then, her mother had been battling depression and it was both a way of getting money and a part of Katniss' post-traumatic stress therapy. He took another gulp. It was uncomfortable how much it reminded him of himself.

He eyed the rest of the cast only briefly. Peeta Mellark was from Virginia, too, and this was his first bigger role. The other names weren't any more familiar to him, like Johanna Mason or Finnick Odair. This prompted an idea he probably shouldn't have followed - to find his own page.

Nothing has changed there for almost ten years. The picture was nearly thirteen years old - Haymitch stared at his younger self. It was from the Sundance Festival, his last public appearance. He had a blur and couldn't recall anything that happened there. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair was a mess. It wasn't the most representative photograph of him ever taken, but he knew that no matter how hard you'd search, you still wouldn't find a better one from that era. It was the time of endless parties, scandals, and then, finally, the accident and following hard fall.

He felt sick all of a sudden.

The slamming of the door was almost welcome. Haymitch closed the page and looked over his shoulder from the desk in the living room.

"You're here," Chaff said with palable relief. "Where did you go?"

"We grabbed some breakfast," Haymitch replied without interest.

His friend's brows shot up and then he grinned wildely. "You and Trinket had a breakfast?"

Haymitch rolled his eyes and walked over to the couch, where he slumped down casually. "There was a pap and she wanted to make off, so we went to some fancy restaurant for snobs and she bought me scrambled eggs. End of story."

"Nice," Chaff evaluated and joined him on the couch. He lightly nudged the bottle with his elbow. "You alright?"

"Perfectly fine."

A silence fell on the room for a while, but the tension started to build up as the inevitable question popped up.

"So?" Chaff's voice had grown serious.

Haymitch chose to stare ahead, out of the partly curtained window. "Nothing."

"Mitch…"

"Chaff, what do I get from this?" he asked bluntly.

"People forget, that's our nature." Chaff rubbed the back of his neck. "But you need to do something. Not this… but it would be good start. Just do _something_. And stop acting like what I have to say don't mean _shit_ to you."

Haymitch shook his head slowly. "If I… _if_ I took this… everything would change. The past… decade or so, it would be in vain."

"But, buddy, the past decade wasn't life. It was just surviving. You hate life so much, you forgot what it's like to go out and do something. Just take a risk. It's been long. You need a distraction. You're killing yourself, Mitch. I ain't letting you spend your whole life like this."

"I don't think I can do it." It was a confession Haymitch didn't intend on sharing, but it was true. "I don't think I can go back to it. Sober. Do all these things… it's not for me anymore."

Chaff elbowed him. "Look, you know I'll support you. But not in this wasting of your time."

"I'll have to think."

"Then think."

Haymitch nodded to himself. One thing he knew, this wasn't going to leave his head anytime soon. He hated them all for this. He had his life. Chaff didn't consider it a life worth living, but it was enough for Haymitch. After the breakdown and the accident, he just needed to stay out of the limelight for a bit. It wasn't planned, but this break has stretched for twelve years and he wanted to keep it that way. No justifying, no obeying. He wasn't a slave of the public opinion anymore. He wasn't a slave of his management anymore. Instead, he had become a slave of his depressed mind, but he'd take it over having to get back to the business any time.

It hasn't always been that bad. That was the past few years. Even after he had stopped acting, he _did_ try, he went to a therapist, he tried too many different hobbies to count, he had tried to keep up with his old friends, but they all either judged him or reminded him of everything that went wrong too much.

He had eventually figured out he'd be better off on his own.

His hatred for the world of the silver screen had died down in the past few years, that was true. It couldn't burn so fiercely forever. Sometimes, he caught himself thinking about all the _what if_ s. About what could have been. He _had_ liked it at some point. It was the lifestyle he hated, not the job. They had succesfully put a bug in his head and he wouldn't get rid of it. It would be another _what if_.

Chaff had always claimed Haymitch was afraid of change.

Maybe it was time for one, but he wasn't ready.

"I can't stay sober."

"What?"

"You heard." He didn't look Chaff in the face. "I can't stay sober. Withdrawals and shit."

"Hell," Chaff let out a long sigh. "I didn't know it was that bad."

Haymitch played with the bottle absent-mindedly. "Hasn't always been."

"Get a shrink."

"Like hell."

"I mean it," Chaff insisted, "get help. There's no shame in that, buddy. Plutarch knows how it is. You can talk through stuff with him."

Haymitch closed his eyes and let his head fell back against one of the cusions. "If I wasn't a total dickhead, I would've just boarded the first plane I could yesterday and got the fuck out of here right away."

"But you couldn't," Chaff said. "I think you don't wanna be a coward anymore."

"You're calling me a _coward_?" Haymitch shot him a side eye.

"You keep running from things you can't hide from. Sounds like what cowards do."

Maybe he was right. Maybe Haymitch _was_ being a coward. So what? He had a right to be one. His life may have not been the worst, but it was pretty far from a nice one. He had lost his family, he had lost his job. He was a drunk, he didn't have anyone except for Chaff, and he had no idea about the future. His idea of his future was him in his house with a bottle.

There was a lot of thinking to do and a lot of things to consider. He looked at the bottle in his hand, and decided that it could all wait. This wasn't a decision to make drunk, but damn it if he could make it sober.

"Sorry for bringing it up," Chaff said dimly. "With Plutarch, you were right, you don't owe anyone anything."

Haymitch waved his hand at it. "Screw that. I'm thinking about it, too. I _do_ owe him one, but-"

"I know."

"Look," he breathed out slowly, "y'all want me to talk to Coin, so I'll talk to her. I might even listen to what she says. But that's it. I ain't promising anything."

Chaff smirked and elbowed his friend mischeviously. "Trinket must have really spoken to your soul, I see."

"She's a pain in the ass," he rolled his eyes.

Chaff laughed in his signature loud guffaw. "Don't act like you didn't enjoy your _scrambled eggs_ with her."

"Fuck you, Chaff."

"Love you too, Mitch."


	3. Claimed

_/ While Effie Trinket is Hollywood's darling and all her dreams seem to be finally coming true, Haymitch Abernathy is drinking himself into an early grave and shuts the world out completely. However, Plutarch Heavensbee decides it's time for his comeback. The two main stars can't stand each other and tension builds up soon, but as they dive in deep into this project, somewhere between shooting love scenes, fighting on-set, fighting off-set, opening up hesitantly and helping their younger colleagues deal with everything this world brings, they grow closer and closer, until one day they realize they're not pretending anymore. | Hayffie Actors AU /_

* * *

 **Chapter II.**

 _i._

 **April, New York**

Coin's office for some reason always smelled so heavy, like a teachers' common room, all coffee and stale air. Its overall atmosphere wasn't any better. She liked everything organized to the point of sterility. Effie wouldn't have minded _that_ \- at least something they had in common - if she had chosen a better color than grey. It was _everywhere_ \- the fluffy carpet under the ebony conference table, the armchairs in the corners of the room, the curtains that were partly drawn. The fluorescent lights were dim and it both looked and felt like prison.

Effie had felt like she was in prison for the past couple weeks, truth be whole thing with Seneca was still very fresh, and people, especially media, took pleasure in poking into it, trying to pry for anything they could milk some money of. Effie was the one who got caught in it pretty badly.

She had never commented on anything, and neither did he... and it was _nobody's_ business. However, the public still found a way to drag her name through the dirt for plain entertainment. They were, according to everyone on Earth's surface, lovers, so she _had_ to have _something_ to do with his suicide, right? Someone came up with the concept of her declining his engagement proposition being the reason to take his life, how _ridiculous_ , how simply _untrue_. Her management told her to stay quiet and try to divert attention to her new projects instead, a method that always more or less worked, given this wasn't the first shudder in her career. She was still there, and she could get through this, too, but it was tough.

It was somehow worse in New York than in Los Angeles. Back home, in the privacy of her Bel Air mansion, behind high walls and a crust of at least some anonymity she had left, she was at ease, it was like a whole world of its own. Her New York apartment was fine, it was fancy and spacious, and expensive, of course, but Effie had never spent much time there and sometimes felt lonely, not even mentioning the papparazzi that were waiting for her in front of the apartment building every time she was headed out. She never used to mind, but it was frightening her lately. She just wanted to go home. Nothing was going well and that was something Effie Trinket had never admitted out loud to anybody before.

When Plutarch texted her this morning that Haymitch was willing to talk to Coin, she felt a certain satisfaction, though that man didn't seem to be very impressed by her - but that didn't matter, her work here was done. Well, partially - Plutarch insisted on him and the the main cast being present as well. Allegedly to let Haymitch know what he was getting himself into, as if the wasn't obvious.

He was getting himself in trouble.

So far, this shooting seemed almost cursed. As if it simply wasn't bound to work out. Whatever she said, her blind optimism wasn't that blind anymore - she wasn't sure how this drunkard who has spent nearly two decades years locked away and doesn't know anything about personal hygiene or some basic manners could save this entire thing, but it was important for Plutarch, and you know how it is, a drowning man will clutch a straw...

Her company was quiet. Katniss and Peeta were sitting opposite her at the conference table, both absent-minded; she was looking out the window without interest and he was drawing doodles in his notebook. It was full of sketches - Effie saw what he can do with a pencil. That boy was a talent both with words and with colors. He was humble, too. Plutarch, who had taken a seat next to Effie, was stirring his cappuccino and would sometimes interject a casual remark about something that her or Peeta would humor and then they'd go back to their silence.

"I'm sorry that we're keeping you, Alma," Plutarch sighed after a look at his heavy Rolex watch. "He said he'd come as soon as he could."

"Is he busy?" Coin said without taking her eyes off the papers she was slowly browsing through, sleeking the collar of her grey blouse. A strange fascination with such a disgusting color - it fitted her personality, though. Coin was never black or white. It was hard to know where one was standing with her. "I thought you said he was here purely for this."

"It's more complicated-" Plutarch hesitated, "but he's coming today. I know it. He won't disappoint."

The producer's face was unreadable. "He better not, Mr. Heavensbee."

Peeta started drumming his fingers on the table in excitement. "I still can't believe that I'm going to see him. It's surreal. I've wanted this for my entire life."

"Just don't go nuts. I _have_ seen him," Katniss rolled her eyes, "and, trust me, he's really not _that_ impressive."

Effie bit the inside of her cheek at the memory of her own encounter with Haymitch, whose first half he had absolved nearly naked. She would argue with Katniss - the man she used to admire as a teenage girl was long gone, but some things don't age, like his tall figure and sharp features and a look in his eyes that could freeze hell over and yet it would set something in a woman on fire. His behaviour, though, was an entirely different story. He was stubborn, almost as stubborn as her, which would have worked for a fun game, but there was no time for playing here. If he declined today, everything they have worked towards for the past months would be in vain.

But that was defeatist talk. Effie was determined to follow through even if meant dragging him to Italy at knifepoint - and she had made it clear yesterday that she was pretty capable of it.

Her phone vibrated in her handbag, for the millionth time that day.

 _Not now_ , she thought. She should have just changed her number, but he'd find out anyway. Ignoring him was no good, it just meant delaying the inevitable, talking to him, on the other hand, kept taking her back to where she started. Either way, the vibrations were driving her insane and were also pretty audible in the room's bored silence.

"Excuse me," she said finally and reached for her yellow handbag - Alexander McQueen, real leather -, "I will be right back. Maybe I'll meet him in the hallway."

Nobody paid much attention to her leaving the office. Effie chose a sufficient distance between herself and the door and fished her iPhone from her handbag - her hands were shaking with supressed anger and anxiety when she picked up.

"I'm in the middle of a meeting," she hissed quietly. "What do you want this time?"

"Effie, I just saw the papers," Aiden's voice was more annoyed than worried - the main difference between them. "Do you know that they saw you with him yesterday?"

She pressed her back against a wall and let her head fell back and eyes flutter closed. "I know, there was one of them... it was just about work, Aiden. He's considering taking Seneca's role."

"I don't care what it was, Effie. You don't have to explain yourself to me anymore, remember?"

"I never had to, since I don't remember _you_ ever explaining yourself to _me_."

The voice on the other side grew bitter. "I wouldn't be surprised if you had done it just to retaliate. That's very you, honey."

She bit into her lip at the pet name. She hated the effect he still had on her, but there was nothing surprising about it, he had always known where to kick so it would hurt the most. Sometimes, she wondered what she had ever seen in him, what was it that made her fall for him in the first place. The only conclusion she had ever come to was that she was just plain stupid.

"Look," Effie gritted through her teeth, "if you just wanted to let me know about the papers, then thank you, but my publicist would have surely told me, and I wouldn't have to run out of a meeting like some... What do you really want?"

"Maybe I just wanted to talk to you."

"At least don't lie if you must waste my time." Her eyes fell on the floor as the well-known melancholy clutched her throat and confined the air in there. "Aiden, this has to stop."

"I miss you sometimes," he stretched out hesitantly.

She wanted to say it back, she wanted to tell him the truth, but that would be exactly what would have returned her to the very beginning. She needed to be stronger than that. "It has to _stop_."

His reaction only made her glad she didn't open up to him. "Well, the reason I called is that I also got your mail again. Which, I'd say, should stop as well."

"I suppose so," she placed all her attention on a black scratch on the greyish hallway wall. "I wrote there a month ago. I'll do something about it. Just mail it to me, please."

"Fine," Aiden snapped. "I was willing to brush it all off, but-"

" _Willing_? You kicked me out of your house, Aiden. You know what," she sighed, barely keeping herself together, "forget it. Forget everything, forget me, what happened. I am going through such a hard time right now and the very last thing I need is more of you."

"You think it's easy for me? Everything that's happening around me is because of you and that-"

"Go to _hell_ , Aiden," she blurted out much more loudly than she had intended to and ended the call, throwing the phone into the handbag angrily.

"That was harsh," a mocking voice said behind her.

Effie turned around abruptly, short of breath all of a sudden. Her vision was blurry because of supressed tears, but the vague smell of liquor gave him away.

"That's none of your business," she told him with a scowl and crossed her arms to hide the way she was trembling in an attempt at composing herself. The one thing she needed even less than more of Aiden in her life was making a fool of herself in front of Haymitch Abernathy.

He repaid her with a smirk. "Sorry, sweetheart. You're quite difficult to miss. Heard your lovely voice all the way down to the street."

"We have been waiting for you," she informed him coldly, "it's rude to keep people waiting."

Haymitch shrugged and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, the same he had worn yesterday, and pulled out a small silvery flask. "So is sending people to hell, but I guess that really ain't my business." Effie watched him as he took a swig from the flask, how his Adam's apple raised as he swallowed and how his hands were shaking almost imperceptibly. He caught her gazing him and raised one brow in a challenge. "What? Never saw a high-functioning alcoholic before?"

"I wouldn't call you exactly high-functioning," she grounded him. "Do you really drink all the time?"

"No. Didn't drink the last time you saw me, did I?"

Effie waved it off and sighed again. "Let's go inside. Coin likes it when people are punctual. So do I, just so you know."

"Thanks," he jested and let her walk him to the office. He pushed the door open and theatrically outstretched his arm in an inviting gesture. "Go on, sweetheart."

Effie bit her toungue to not sass something back at him as she walked past him back into the office. He followed and closed the grey-painted door behind him with a thud - suddenly, everyone's stares were at the two of them. Curious, even though Katniss and Coin alike tried to not make it obvious.

"Look who I found!" Effie exclaimed and clapped her hands once. "Our star is here."

"Haven't said yes yet," Haymitch reminded her and headed towards the table. "Plutarch."

Plutarch got up to greet him. "Haymitch, thank you for coming! How are you doing?"

"Fine," the other man grunted and eyed the rest of them uncertainly.

"Mr. Abernathy," Coin greeted him halfheartedly, "Alma Coin. It's nice to meet you."

Haymitch shook her hand quickly and then Katniss' and Peeta's. "Yeah, same."

"Sit down with us," Plutarch sang out contently and the whole table shook when he slumped back into his chair.

Haymitch took a seat next to Katniss, right in front of Effie. He made it clear that he didn't care about the impression he was going to give. The stubble, the long, messy hair, the overworn clothes. Effie didn't like people who didn't care about their appearance. However, he was still quite handsome.

She blushed when she realized that a few years back, she'd give her right hand to be in this position. But right now, she was just disappointed and a little jaundiced.

He didn't even know who she was.

Plutarch took the word. "Haymitch, you already know Effie. This," he gestured at Katniss who scowled and winced, "is Katniss Everdeen, our star. She's a comet, I'm telling you - it's like she's on fire when she gets into it. You'll get along. And this is our new James Dean," he introduced Peeta proudly. "We all love him and so will you, he's a true talent and has a heart of gold. These two are the newest hopes of the industry and it's the first bigger project for the both of them."

"I'm such a huge fan," Peeta said and heeled over the table to see Haymitch, because Katniss was sitting between them, rolling her eyes hard. "I've seen everything. You're a legend. This is so exciting."

Haymitch was clearly uncomfrotable with the boy's spate of attention. "I'm not."

"He doesn't care, Peeta," Katniss muttered and folded her arms over her chest, pulling the sleeves of her black woolen sweater over her hands.

Peeta frowned at her, partly in concern, partly in aggravation. "It's like _you_ don't even care who is sitting next you. I mean, you're not a fan, but-"

"You're right, I'm not." Katniss shot Haymitch a furtive look. "I know you. I saw you in Seam."

"We never met," he replied dimissively.

"We did," she insisted, "but you probably don't remember."

Coin cleared her throat, effectively catching everyone's attention.

"So, we can start." She caught Haymitch's look. "I'm glad you came, Mr. Abernathy. I really appreciate it, we all do, especially considering your... situation."

He lifted one eyebrow. "Situation?"

"It's not a rose garden for you, that isn't a secret," Coin explained herself baldly. "I want you to know that nobody is going to pressure you into anything, but the mere fact that you decided to talk to me means a lot. Let me introduce the whole situation to you, though, I suppose, you already know."

"You need an actor to save the shooting or you'll lose hell of a money. Yeah, I know that."

She smiled curtly. "I assume you have given it a lot of thought."

"Not that much, really," he admitted and his eyes briefly wandered to Effie.

"Yet you are here," Coin said wryly and took a sip from her black coffee. "Have you read the script?"

Haymitch dug into the inside of his jacket and pulled out a rolled up volume of shiny papers - it wasn't the script she had given him, so she supposed he had asked Chaff for another one. He put it on the table and flattened it. "Yeah."

"Did you like it?" Plutarch bubbled. "I wrote it last year when I was in Neapol. I was walking around the city and the idea just popped into my head-" he gestured wildly while speaking, then let his hand fall on the table. He reached out for the script and moved it over the shiny surface to himself, caressing the title page with big _Wildest Dreams_ and his name written under it. "It means a lot to me."

"It was... good," Haymitch reassured him slowly. "Really."

Coin started tapping her fingers on the papers spread in front of her contently. "Let me introduce you to the details. The shooting will start in two weeks in Venice, and will take 15 weeks, finishing in Rome. Other locations include Verona and Neapol. The premiere is set on next July, with hopes of nominations during the main award season next winter. Does it sound well so far?"

Effie watched Haymitch's jaws tense and the skin on his cheeks tighten as he tilted his head slightly in contemplation.

"Look," he said carefully, not directly to anyone present, "I'm not an actor anymore. I have my reasons to do this. But I also have my conditions."

The tapping stopped as Coin slowly shook her head. "I don't like people setting conditions."

"You're not in position to decline my damn conditions," he retorted, granting Effie's tender kick in the shin under the table. He gifted her with an annoyed frown - he didn't like people telling him what to do and he already disliked her, she caught that when they first met. She couldn't stand his arrogance, he was acting like he was indispensable, but the worst part was that he _really_ was important for them. Important enough for Coin to take a step back.

"Am I?" Coin narrowed her eyes slightly, exchanging a look with Plutarch who shook his head nearly imperceptibly.

"You're acting like you're above all this, but you're desperate enough to consider hiring _me_ ," Haymitch gestured at himself, "so I guess I've got a right to have some _conditions_."

"Alma," Plutarch interfered, "he deserves some... consideration. He's doing us a huge favor."

Coin looked like she has bitten into a sour apple. It wasn't surprising - she liked control, absolute control of everything, of each and every aspect of the project, and she liked order and people fully respecting her authority, and now there was a man who had just now emerged from the dead, daring to come here looking like he had worn these clothes every day for the past fifteen years, smelling like whiskey and setting some _conditions_ , while also brazenly letting her know that she _needed_ him and _no_ wasn't an answer in exchange for his help. Effie couldn't even imagine how humiliating that must have been. "Go ahead, Mr. Abernathy."

The first condition was very simple. "No publicity."

Plutarch looked confused. "What do you mean by that?"

"No promotion, no interviews, no shoots, nothing," Haymitch elaborated.

Coin half-smiled in an insincere disappointment. "I'm afraid I cannot allow that."

"Why not?" Katniss spoke up to everyone's surprise and played with her mug with hot chocolate. "I think it's a good idea. You shouldn't push people into it."

"I know where you are going with this, Miss Everdeen," Coin dismissed her, "and I must remind you that you have already signed a contract giving you certain responsibilities. As for you, Mr. Abernathy, I don't think it's possible, either."

Katniss pouted. She hated interviews and promotion. She was fairly new to all of this, a strongly introverted person, and a rather grumpy one, and while she _could_ be very charming when she wanted to, most of the time, she wasn't. Talking to reporters, getting paparazzi, being the center of attention, it was stressing her out. All well-meant advice would go unnoticed because she was so _stubborn_. She was probably deeply regretting not asking for the same contract, though her and Haymitch's positions were incomparable.

"Look, you've already got your banner headlines, your big story," he continued stubbornly. "Trust me, I know something about promotion. I don't want attention. It can be done without me going public. If you insist, it can my _only_ condition."

"I would have to consider that."

That wasn't a satisfying answer, and Effie was partly amused, partly shocked by his blunt audacity. He looked at Coin with self-confidence of someone who knew they got someone into check. "You're gonna gimme a contract saying exactly that I don't have to engage in public promotion, or you can find some other monkey to dance as you say."

Nobody said a thing - everyone just kept alternately looking at Coin and Haymitch, going between them as if they were watching a tennis ball during a heated match.

Coin gave in first, her eyes calculating and lips twitching in restrained anger. "Very well, Mr. Abernathy. I suppose you do not have a manager or a publicist?"

"No." His hands were shaking again.

"The production company is going to get you one-" Coin raised her hand in an eloquent gesture when he tried to protest, "I insist on that."

He shrugged it off like he couldn't be bothered by that at that moment. "Fine."

"Now, to your paycheck," she changed the topic suddenly.

"I don't want your money."

Coin raised her eyebrows in genuine surprise. "Are you sure?"

Plutarch looked even more shocked than her. "This isn't right, Haymitch. I know how you feel about this - I just wanna compensate you-"

Haymitch interrupted him. "Don't compensate me anything. Keep your money, you need it more than I do. Let's just get it done."

"Haymitch, that's incredible of you-"

"Well, that settles it then." Coin made it obvious that Haymitch wasn't the only one who wanted the whole situation to be finally over. "You are certainly a personality, Mr. Abernathy. I must say I was not expecting that. I am going to give you a contract that frees you from any obligation to all forms of public appearances related to promotion. It's also going to state you have forsaken all your financial fees. In return, you are going to leave for Italy with the cast and production on April 24 and stay present until your duties are over. Are we clear?"

"Yeah, perfectly," he uttered, frowning when he shot Plutarch a look speaking of something Effie didn't understand. Then he looked at her - she couldn't tell what he was thinking of this time, either, as it was strangely emotionless.

She was also strangely emotionless, though she should have been happy. All she could really think about was Aiden, Seneca, the press, and that heart was still beating as if she had just done a race for her life and everything was passing her without really touching her. The glass of water standing in front of her on the table was still untouched. She was too afraid to take a sip because of the way her hands were shaking.

 _I'm like Haymitch_ , she thought in annoyance.

"Wonderful," Effie forced herself to say in the most cheerful way she was capable of.

Nobody would have noticed her shaking hands, though, because everybody - except Katniss who for some reason had strong reservations against Plutarch's idea of asking him for help - was too busy celebrating the fact that Haymitch Abernathy, who had been living hidden somewhere in Virgina for the past years and showbusiness was taboo for him, was finally willing to step into the limelight again for them.

Peeta, who was politely quiet until this moment, didn't hesitate to show his enthusiasm.

"This is so great," he exlaimed, his baby blue eyes sparkling as if it was Christmas morning. "I can't believe it!"

Plutarch looked like he was about to explode when he patronisingly patted Haymitch on the shoulder. "I knew you'd make the right decision."

Haymitch was uncomfortable. Effie could judge so by the way he was playing with the sleeve of his jacket and how the worry lines crossed his forehead when he grunted something in the sense of acknowledgement. It was so easy to tell that it took everything in him not to empty his flask in one gulp because his fingers rested on the pocket he kept it in. Coin noticed it, too, because when he stood up, ready to say his thanks and take his leave, she cleared her throat importantly, and her dark eyes caught his steely gaze.

"One last thing, Mr. Abernathy," she said, "and I promise that you can leave then."

He shuffled his feet on the floor, stabbed by Katniss' eyes that Effie for the first time noticed were way too similar to his. It may have had something to do with them being from the same place, but she could swear they looked like relatives in that very moment, all annoyed slant and a little rough appearance, seemingly out of place in this big polished city, matching their moody mystery. "Yeah?"

"We haven't talked about your drinking yet," Coin reminded him.

"There's no need for that," Plutarch rushed to help. "I'll get you a therapist that would always be present on set, and-"

"I don't want a fucking _therapist_ ," Haymitch spat, "I can take care of it on my own."

The older man was insistent. "Well, I'm going to get you one anyway, in case you change your mind. You just have to promise me you won't show up drunk on the set - or that you will at least know when to stop."

Haymitch's eyes gleamed as he gritted his teeth. "It's under control, Plutarch."

His friend nodded in a satisfied concession. "Alright."

"Well, that would be it, Mr. Abernathy," Coin announced and breathed out endlong. "If everything is clear, you can go."

"We'll mail you the contract this week," Plutarch trilled.

"I'm really glad... that this is the decision you made," Effie told him honestly and offered her hand for him to shake it.

"Thanks." Haymitch accepted her hand this time and took it into his briefly; his palms were warm and his skin was rough and dry. Then he nodded at Katniss and Peeta. "Nice to meet you, kids."

"It was so great to meet _you_ ," Peeta blurted out. "I can't wait to work with you."

Haymitch offered him his hand, which the boy had taken with utter adoration. Katniss didn't appreciate it, though, overpassing the gesture without a word. When the situation grew akward as no one seemed to have anything more to say, he headed to the door, and as he was half-way through, Effie suddenly felt like she wasn't done yet.

"Wait," she got up and grabbed her things, quickly looked over her shoulder to say a brief goodbye to the rest of them, and followed him outside.

He turned around in annoyance, hands in the pockets of a black jacket that was way too warm for April weather and didn't even look like it belonged to him, as its fitting was a little oversized and he didn't seem comfortable in it. "What do you want this time?"

Effie crossed her arms and stroked the silky material of her pastel yellow blouse that was, for change, a little too light for April weather. "I just wanted to say thank you. I know how much this means to Plutarch, but it means a lot to me, too."

Haymitch rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I guess you didn't expect me to come."

"I am an optimist," she tossed her hair over her shoulder nonchalatnly. "When there is a free fall, I close my eyes and hope for the best."

He let out a rough chuckle. "That's all you do in this life."

"Let me just tell you something," she grew serious, tapping her fingers on her biceps. "This is a lot of responsibility. More than you'd like. You are not used to this. You are... drinking."

Haymitch rolled his eyes. "Thanks for letting me know."

Effie narrowed her own blue ones at him. "What I mean is that I don't fully trust you. You say it's under control, but we both know it's not. Plutarch knows it, Coin knows it-" she started massaging her temple to sooth the growing headache. "I will keep an eye on you. If you do anything to jeopardize the shooting - and I mean _anything_ \- I will make you pay for it. I mean it-"

"I get it," he cut her off. "I won't, okay?"

She looked at him properly for the first time that day. They were burning each other with stares speaking of various levels of annoyance, in various states of puzzlement. She just needed him to not let her down.

She couldn't help it. She still remembered what it was like when she first saw him on the silver screen - she was eleven, he was sixteen, he was playing a Rebel Without A Cause-like high schooler in a drama about a boy rebelling against the system, a role that, as she had later learned, reflected on his real life a lot, and she had fallen in love. As she got older, she was set on finding someone like him.

That was probably the reason every man she has loved so far has disappointed her.

When Plutarch offered her the role, she firstly wanted to say no. Seneca was already cast and she knew what would happen - people have been trying to put these two together for so long, media were after them all the time, even though she'd been with Aiden for years and he was engaged at that time. It was him who talked her into taking the chance. It was the perfect time, the year after her very first Oscar nomination, what more could she ask for than a star-loaded war drama that might as well get her the award for real?

It wasn't the best time when it came to her personal life, though. Her and Seneca have never been anything more than just friends... that one night didn't count but it had cost her a lot. She couldn't blame Aiden for not taking it well. What she hated was the fact that she had tolerated the exact same thing for years, but it helped her understand how stupid she was. He'd leave her, anyway, and even if he didn't, it would be a life full of anxiety and distrust - she didn't want that. She didn't need someone by her side, she just chose to fully dive into work, and that was why she jumped after the role even if she was so unsure at first.

Effie wondered if that was why Haymitch took it in the end. If he was also running from something and realized that no matter how many bottles he downs, he can't escape what is haunting him, but that he can at least turn it into something productive. She loved acting because it allowed her to get lost in a world entirely of her own. She loved losing herself so much she sometimes had trouble going back to normal after the work was done.

She needed to find herself again before she lost herself forever.

"Promise."

"You can't be serious."

"Promise me," she insisted. "Promise me you will do everything to make it work."

He was measuring her as if she was mad, but nodded nevertheless. It was reluctant and uncertain, the kind of word people give when they already know they won't keep it, and there was a trace of distaste in it as well, but it was also the first time he had shown her some kindness. It was somehow enough for her to believe him a little more. "I promise."

"Then," she exclaimed and gifted him with a genuine smile that was rare these days, "I am sure we will get along. Can I have one more question?"

"I guess."

"What was the other condition?"

He smiled mysteriously, already leaving her in the gloomy hall on her own. "That they fire you and find someone else."

"Ruffian!" she snapped, but he was behind a corner and his chuckles resonating around were the only answer she got.

* * *

 _Looks like we're going to Italy next week! What do you think so far? x_


	4. Infinite Deal Of Nothing

/ While Effie Trinket is Hollywood's darling and all her dreams seem to be finally coming true, Haymitch Abernathy is drinking himself into an early grave and shuts the world out completely. However, Plutarch Heavensbee decides it's time for his comeback. The two main stars can't stand each other and tension builds up soon, but as they dive in deep into this project, somewhere between shooting love scenes, fighting on-set, fighting off-set, opening up hesitantly and helping their younger colleagues deal with everything this world brings, they grow closer and closer, until one day they realize they're not pretending anymore. | Hayffie Actors AU /

* * *

 ** _"INFINITE DEAL OF NOTHING"_**

 _i._

 _April, New York_

The two kids have caught his attention - the girl in the pink dress with glitters and small, hardly noticable fairy wings on her back, and the boy with suit pants and a little sword. They were running around the departure hall, he was chasing her, but he was also older and taller and caught her every time, pretending to pierce her with the sword. It was probably made of polystyrene and wrapped in foil, but he still wondered how it got through the control. He, in fact, didn't care about that as much as about the fact that their screaming and high-pitched laughs were giving him a headache.

He took a sip from his coffee and looked out of the window instead. After half an hour of aimless walking, he had finally found a spot in one of the duty-free cafés with a view at the runway and far enough from the awkward small talks his new colleagues kept coming up with. Some time alone was nice, considering what he was about to let himself get into.

* * *

Chaff went here with him since he has appointed himself into the role of a moral support he didn't ask for. JFK was crowded like hell on a Saturday morning and the taxi driver that had previously drove them here was barely hiding the severe aggravation that was threating to bubble to the surface when he drove around the parking lot for the third time, trying to find a good spot to put the old yellow cab to rest. His calloused fingers were heavily tapping on the ratty leather coating of the stiff steering wheel when he waited for an elderly man with a mustard yellow Beetle to take the place he had been eyeing since he drove here and resigned.

"I'll just drop you off in front of the hall," he decided and slowed down, taking a place in a long queue of cars whose drivers have come to the same conclusion.

Haymitch simply nodded. He was clutching the boarding pass so tightly it became all crumpled while his palms went sweaty. He rubbed them against his jeans and tried with all of his will to calm down. Not that he'd admit it out loud, but he was nervous. Not nervous, he reminded himself. Just paranoid.

"Here we are." The driver got as close to the sidewalk as possible and let the engine idle. The car was shaking to the rythm of Haymitch's heartbeat - or so it seemed.

Chaff let his huge dark eyes rest on him from the neighboring seat. They were like two x-ray lasers which could be both a useful and a very annoying trait. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Haymitch's voice was coarse like sand like it usually was in the mornings and his hands were trembling like they often were when he had been sober for too long. However, he smelled like aftershave and happened to be wearing a brand new shirt, one that Chaff bought him when he saw him having some troubles with packing. The thing was that packing for a three-month leave was somewhat of a craft for someone who hadn't left his house for such a long time. He didn't even have enough clothes to take with him and he had to take a lot of things into consideration, like that Italy was hot and half across the globe from home.

Or maybe Chaff merely wanted to show some kindness because he was behind all of this, and hadn't it been for him and his inability to mind his own business, Haymitch wouldn't be in a rush to catch a plane to Venice in the first place. Or maybe he just considered Haymitch too shabby. He wouldn't be the only one.

Someone tooted behind them and the atmosphere in the cabin that smelled after ramen noodles, gasoline and cheap deodorant, became just as heavy as Haymitch's heart had felt like since the last trip to this airport. Who would have thought back then that life would bring him here… or that Plutarch would. "I'll go."

"You sure I shouldn't go with you?" Chaff looked and sounded like a soccer dad dropping his kid off on their first day of middle school.

"I'm fine, ma," Haymitch mocked, but let his hand hover in the air uncertainly before he let it fall on Chaff's shoulder. "Thanks for… coming."

Chaff waved it off and briefly but tightly hugged his best friend despite the sigh the other man let out. "I'll be there in the middle of June."

"Okay." Haymitch stepped out before he could change his mind. There was quite a line behind them already and he hurried with bringing his shabby suitcase out of the trunk. He quickly nodded to Chaff, checked his pockets and then he was left alone.

Coin was so kind she had reserved a private first class flight for him, Plutarch, Katniss, Peeta and Effie. He hoped he was sitting alone - he wasn't in the mood for the director's good cheer or Peeta's babbling or Katniss' hostility, and he definitely wasn't in the mood for Effie in general. They were all supposed to meet in the hall at one of the terminals, but finding them would have been a much easier task to do if the hall wasn't bascially flooded with families with little laughing kids going for premature holidays or businessmen in grey suits heading to meetings. Everybody was rushing.

Despite his nonchalant demeanor, Haymitch was glad that Chaff was with him through what had been the longest two weeks of his life. He expected it, but there are things nobody can prepare you for, and when the day after his meeting with Coin Plutarch gave the official statement and the news about Haymitch's involvement in the movie broke out, a shitstorm had started. His neighbourhood was quiet and empty and those who _did_ live there, in one of the many same-looking houses with gravel driveways and small windows, in the loneliest part of Richmond, basically reserved for wealthy people with a desire to hide from the world, were snobs who were too well-mannered to directly approach him, but their eyes followed him every time he walked out to get his mail and morning newspapers. He was worried about the paps, but nobody tried to snatch a picture or anything.

However, he was _everywhere_ , in the news, on the internet, in the magazines. He knew most of it from Chaff, because he didn't have the balls to go downtown, though that might seem a little paranoid, because people rarely reached out to him in Richmond. He sent him a picture of a magazine cover with Haymitch and Effie's pictures on the cover with a winking emoji. His Wikipedia got updated. And it was causing him such claustrophobia, such anxiety. Thanks to his contract, he didn't have to talk to anyone from the media, but his phone was constantly blown up nevertheless thanks to him not having a publicist or someone to take care of his calls and emails, until he changed his number that only few people knew. Coin _did_ get him a publicist after he signed the deal, but he wasn't planning on sharing anything, and didn't care about what was written about him, eihter, but from what he had seen and been told by Chaff and Plutarch, they were all right about the best promotional move possible, even if it meant some discomfort for Haymitch. He was holding onto the fact that he'd soon disappear in Italy where nobody cared.

The story of a fallen star who was going through his big comeback, even if it was just one-off, simply sold well everyone and everything that was involved. There was definitely some controversy regarding the fact that the role had been recast so soon after Crane's death, and a lot of people criticized the studio's choice of actor as well, but as Plutarch put it, negative publicity is also publicity and overall, there was nothing that could bring more attention.

"Unless you and Trinket get married," Chaff joked. For whatever reason, he took pleasure in teasing Haymitch about her. It was annoying and unnecessary. And strangely stressful. He didn't want to be associated with her… or anyone else.

Haymitch wasn't interested in that attention, though. The two weeks between his agreement and his departure have been hell for him, it was both mentally and emotionally challenging and he was feeling worn out. The fact that he had to slowly lower his alcohol intake in order to not fall into withdrawals and have a breakdown on the first day of shooting wasn't helping, either. He was tired, but when he looked at himself in the mirror, even he had to admit that some shampooning, a shave and clean clothes could really do wonders, so at least some pros to balance the cons so far.

And he'd trade it all for a bottle of something, but the only liquor he was bringing along was a flask hidden in his leather jacket.

Plutarch was worried that all the sudden attention and all the stress would make him change his mind, and emailed him at least every three days to ask how he's doing and if he's still in, until Haymitch ran out of patience and said that if Plutarch didn't stop, he might as well start looking for someone again. It worked, and the only mail Haymitch got from him since that day was the copy of the contract.

The public's freshly renewed interest in him wasn't the only thing that rocked him, though. It was the call from Hazelle Hawthorne, one of the things he didn't expect at all. It had been such a long time since the two have talked; she married one of his friends from school and they used to be fairly close, but fell out after the mining accident, and the last time they talked was years ago, so long he didn't remember the occasion. When he picked up, she sounded the same as always, tired, but there was a hint of teasing under the layers of year's worth of exhaustion.

"I heard that you're back." There was the unmistakable rustle of newspapers on the other side, and the well-known noises of Greasy Sae's Hub were illustrating the background and setting the scene. Clinking of glasses and plates, low music, loud talking, air conditioning always turned on to the highest point. He could see her doing the dishes with the old landline phone propped between her cheek and shoulder, while her kids were running around the lively pub and waited tables. "You could have at least said something."

"Why would I do that?" Haymitch was in the middle of making himself a humble dinner consisting of two scrambled eggs and a week old white bread. "Now you know."

She snorted. "I knew the day would come when you'd sell yourself out again, you know?"

"I'm not doing it for money," he informed her sharply and supressed a curse when he noticed the egg-shell in the uncongenial mixture in the pan.

"So why? Why the _hell_ would you go for this again?"

"Because."

"Okay." There was some shouting on the other side. "A turkey sandwich for table three," she said loudly. "Sorry, Friday evening. You should come over sometime."

Haymitch hesitated and turned off the stove. The meal looked poor, but it was better than the soup he had yesterday. He was slowly running out of supplies. Going to the grocer's or even ordering something was totally out of the question. "That's not a good idea."

"Why?"

"I'd just rather stay home."

Hazelle sighed. "So you're back to this? You don't want anyone to see you, or talk to you… so you'll just lock yourself at home? Very well, Haymitch."

"It's not that," he snapped. "I have to learn the script, organize some shit around the house for when I'm away-"

"Say no more," she cut him off coldly. "I know you better than most, I know that it's bullshit when they say that you simply think that you're too good for this place, but sometimes I wonder what it is about you that makes you resent everyone trying to help you. We haven't seen you in so long…"

He interrupted her, determined to stop it before she managed to make him feel guilty. "I'll come over, okay? When the hype dies down, when shit's settled. Not now."

He could totally imagine her rolling her eyes and brushing away a strand of her fuzzily brown hair that always escaped the lose bun she wore. "You're paranoid. You shouldn't make another damn movie, you should get a therapist and finally do something _normal_."

"Did you only call me to tell me that? Cause that's what I've got Chaff for, thanks. I've got my reasons that are just _mine_. I know what I'm doing, Haze."

"Sorry," she said after seconds of quiet only interrupted by the background noise on her side. "Our Gale is in the mines now. He used to go to school with Katniss."

That wasn't a surprising information, given there was only one elementary in Seam, and basically all kids went to middle and high school in suburban Richmond.

"She dropped out some time ago and is homeschooled. So she can help her mom." Hazelle paused. "Katniss is a great girl. She just has it hard. She comes here sometimes to help us at the diner. Gale really likes her," her voice had a mischevious undercurrent.

"Yeah, a lovely girl," he muttered and cringed when he tasted the eggs. He flushed it down with a sip from one of the last whiskey bottles he had here, the worse quality ones. "Can you like, ship me a sandwich or something?"

Hazelle chuckled raggedly. "I see someone's missing my spinach sandwiches… or the salomon ones?"

"Actually, the ketchup and cheese ones."

"Well, maybe if you come over-" the classical sound of shattering glass stopped her from finishing her offer. "Rory! Clean the mess up, right now, I- sorry, Haymitch, I'm glad you're fine. Please call if you need something, I gotta go-"

He listened to the mess on the other side, and after coming to the conclusion that she forgot to hang up, he ended the call, threw the phone on the sofa and scratched the rest of mayonneise out of the bottle into his plate.

No, a trip to Seam surely wouldn't have been a good idea. It wasn't that he didn't want to go, it was more like that there was no reason to do so. Seeing Hazelle and her kids again would have been nice but he wasn't ready. And he doubted anyone would have welcomed him in Seam with open arms.

 _I knew the time you'd sell yourself again would come_ was the way most people would look at him, probably. That was how they have always looked at him. Like the boy who ran away from the small town to start a big career and left everything behind. It wasn't true, but how could have they blamed him for wanting to get out? To make sure his family was fine? Some looked at him with disdain, some with envy, some with understanding. It had always been bittersweet to go home. It took him a while until he realized that something was wrong. The people in Seam must have been proud when he decided to quit acting. They'd probably consider this whole thing a yet another betrayal.

No, he really didn't need to face that right now. He had enough of that in his own mind.

He had noticed her first. It was impossible to overlook her and it stirred up aggravation inside his guts - neither of them wanted to be seen or noticed and she was like a magnet for attention in her short and tight yellow dress and candyfloss pink stillettos. Her white RayBans weren't going to cut it.

When she saw him, she smiled politely, but when she moved the glasses down her nose to take a look at him, he could physically feel her judging. And he didn't care - he just ignored her instead and let Plutarch pat his back and shook hands with Katniss and Peeta. He had a certain feeling that everybody was looking at them, but they all - except for Effie, of course - looked dressed down and civil enough for nobody to even try to look for movie stars in them. Everybody had enough of their own problems and thoughts to give their attention to, apparently.

It would take almost ten hours with a stop in London. The time shift from New York to Venice was minus six hours. It was going to be hell.

A mechanical female voice filled the departure hall and announced the number of their flight. He finished his coffee in one gulp, them him, Effie, Plutarch, Peeta and Katniss met up at the gate. Katniss was keeping a straight face and only her long braid was poking out from her hoodie, but even she had a curius look in her grey eyes when she took off her sunglasses and handed her passport and boarding pass to the airport's smiling employee.

"I've never been to another country," said Peeta, obviously putting Katniss' thoughts into words.

The woman controlling their papers had lank ginger hair in a loose ponytail and sort of swimmed in her uniform. Her eyes widened with disbelief when she took Effie's passport. "Euphemia Trinket? _That_ Effie Trinket?"

Haymitch saw Effie wince and grew heavily aware of the stares people granted them with. He knit his brows and caught Plutarch's gaze who replied by shaking his head in a meaningless gesture.

"Could you be more discreet, please?" Effie hissed when she whisked the papers out of the sheepish woman's hands and hurried to the gate. Immediately, several camera clicks could be heard.

The woman didn't say anything while she controlled Haymitch's passport, but the struck look in her big pale green eyes gave away that she knew his name and was probably fighting the urge to start screaming. He was glad when they finally boarded the plane without anyone stopping them or trying to approach them, partially thanks to the security guy who had been hovering next to them the entire time until they got on the plane safely.

"Somebody took a picture," Peeta whispered in surprise, his ears turning red, when they started looking for their seats in the half-empty first class. "They know us too?"

"They're all looking at them," Katniss moved her shoulder vaguely towards Haymitch and Effie. She stopped in front of one of the seats and took a look at her boarding pass. "This one's mine."

Peeta smiled awkwardly after looking at his own. "Seems like we're sitting together."

"Awesome," she muttered and tiptoed to put her backpack into the luggage rack.

"Wait." Peeta gently placed his palm on her wrist and helped her push the backpack further into the rack.

"You didn't have to do that," she lighted into him and slumped into the pale blue leather seat, blush spilling over her olive cheeks.

"I'm sitting here," Haymitch threw his leather jacket over the armrest of his seat behind the kids' and turned to Effie who was standing behind him. "See you in ten hours."

Effie checked her pass and the flash of mischeviousness ran over her face. "Actually, we are sitting together."

He supressed a moan. "C'mon."

Plutarch, who was settling down on his seat in the row next to them, looked at them with concern. "Is there a problem?"

"Can we switch seats?" Haymitch grunted.

"Deifinitely not," Plutarch replied in amusement, eyes flicking between the two of them. "You are going to spend a lot of time together, you need to get used to each other and preferably… get along." He chuckled and waved it off when he saw Haymitch turning to the kids. "Don't even try it. They need some bonding time as well."

"Bonding time?" Haymitch shook his head and sat down before they started to attract unwanted attention again. He noticed a little girl pointing at them and whispering something to her mother who opened her mouth when she saw him and then quickly looked away as if she got burned. "Fine."

When Effie sat down next to him, she breathed out heavily. "Finally. I should have gone by my private jet, but the studio had already gotten us these tickets and I thought that if I haven't flown commerical in such a long time, it might be a nice change, but I really miss the comfort and privacy and-"

Haymitch gave her a side-eye. "I don't feel any need to _bond_ with you. So, if you could just keep your mouth shut, I'd really appreciate it."

"Why are you so _hostile_?" she gently kicked his shin. "I think it's time we finally have a proper talk."

"I don't wanna talk with you, and don't kick me again if you don't wanna get kicked back," he growled, to which she reacted with an amused eyeroll.

"Rude. You don't kick a lady." Effie opened one of the magazines they were offering on the plane and crossed her legs, prompting him to notice that her dress had rolled a little higher up her pale tights. She caught his gaze and put the magazine down in annoyance. "What?"

"You'd use some tan," he told her hastily.

She raised her perfectly shaped brows and slowly shook her head at him. "Pardon?"

"Forget it," he mumbled and looked out of the window instead. "Let's just stay quiet, right? Keep your mouth shut until London, you think you can manage that?"

"We will see."

 _ii._

The flight was long and boring and the atmosphere was shitty. And, it turned out, staying quiet was kind of a mission impossible for Effie even when it came to the matter of mere minutes, let alone an eight hour flight to London. She kept continuously making attempts at starting a small talk, or at least shared everything that came to her mind with him.

He kept telling her that he didn't care and replying with vague grunts and shrugs, but it soon became obvious that she wasn't really talking to him, she just wanted to talk in general. He deeply envied Katniss - she had put her earphones in the second she had fastened her seatbelt and the seats in front of them have remained quiet since them. Peeta was drawing something in the corners of his screenplay, Plutarch was asleep and Effie was switching between the magazines and her tablet.

Haymitch had soon figured out that travelling by plane wasn't for him at all - his legs were too long for the limited space and he soon got a backache, plus there absolutely nothing to do. The movie they were playing was some romantic comedy that had apparently starred some of Effie's Hollywood friends, and the view from the window easily grew boring, considering it was just cotton-like clouds and the occasional plane flying in the opposite direction. The only light moment was the brunch they got - and the fact that while Plutarch was sleeping and Effie went to the toilets, he had ordered a glass of whiskey that he emptied in one gulp and gave back to the stewardess before someone noticed.

They had arrived to London at five pm of the European time for an hour stop. Some of the people who had reached their destination were getting off the plane.

"When I fly by my plane,," Effie brought up, sounding annoyed, "I can at least go out during stops. I wish I could go for a walk, it's such a shame."

"Thinking about another hour with you, I'm considering it anyway."

She shot him a sharp look, but backpedalled when she saw the mocking in his face. "Okay, you think yourself funny. I can work with that."

"And you take yourself too seriously," he shrugged and changed the intensity of the air conditioning.

Effie reached up and changed it back to the default mode, a little smirk lifitng the corners of her lips. "Oh, do I?"

"Yeah." Haymitch changed it again. "It's too hot in here."

"It's cold," she argued.

He shrugged again. "Too bad."

"That's not very gentlemanly of you," she informed him and hugged herself demonstratively.

"Who said I'm a gentleman?" Haymitch nestled in his seat comfortably when he finally found a position that wasn't making his leg hurt. "You take yourself too seriously."

"If you insist." She changed the air conditioning again and gifted him with a fleeting smile.

He opened his mouth to say something when the little girl who had previously stared at Effie appeared by their seats, standing in a reverent distance from them. She was wearing a baby blue dress and had messy dirty blonde hair and a shy look on her freckled face.

"Are you Effie Trinket?" The girl's cheeks were burning red when she dared to speak in a high-pitched tone.

"Yes, darling." Despite Haymitch having the feeling that after the incident at JFK Effie wasn't in the mood to socialize with strangers, she put on a bright smile and turned her attention to the little girl. He noticed she was clutching a crumpled piece of paper and a pink glittery pen. "And you are?"

"Rosie," the girl answered and bit her lip nervously. Her blue eyes fell on Haymitch. "This is your boyfriend?"

"No," Effie's voice hurdled as she fought the amusement creeping into it, "not even close. He is my collegue. That means we're working together. His name's Haymitch."

"I know," the girl giggled, "my mum likes him."

Haymitch caught Effie's teasing gaze and scowled at her. She had turned back to the girl and smiled politely. "And where is your mum?"

"She went to the toilets." Rosie muted her voice. "She didn't want to let me talk to you. She said that it's not polite. Am I being rude?"

"Not at all," Effie laughed lightly. "Are you going for a vacation?"

Rosie nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. We're going to Venice and then to Rome. For two weeks."

"That sounds fantastic!" Effie exclaimed and clapped her hands. "You are going to love Rome. It's beautiful. Almost as beautiful as Paris or Casablanca."

"I don't know Casablanca," Rosie said, "but I saw Paris in pictures. It looks pretty." She shuffled her feet and then handed Effie the pen and the piece of paper. "Will you give me an autograph, please?"

Effie beamed at her and propped the paper against her knee. "Of course."

Haymitch watched her quickly write her name down - probably for the millionth time in her career - and put a _for Rosie_ in front of it. Instead of a dot, she put a little heart above the i.

"Thank you!" Rosie clutched the paper to her chest and ran back to her seat.

"Kids are nice," Effie said softly. "They always make my day."

"Some are kinda annoying," he remarked. "This happens to you often?"

She nodded with her eyes fixated on her nails. "Everywhere I go." She looked up at him with a confident smile. "But I think it's worth it."

"Guess there are two kinds of people."

"I- did you change the air conditioning _again_ while I wasn't looking?"

He flashed her a mysterious smirk. "Maybe."

Effie sighed and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. In the pale fluorescent light, the lines around her eyes that were otherwise invisible seemed highlighted by the heavy layer of pearly powder on her skin. All of those _sexiest woman alive_ and _the most beautiful actress in the world_ wins were surely deserved, he'd give her that. She had soft but attractive features, a great figure and a certain sex-appeal, with her blonde hair blowed in waves that she kept nonchalantly throwing over her shoudler and florid clothes that were screaming expensive. She was the prototype of a flawless Hollywood ambassador.

"Can I have a question?" she said cautiously, changing the topic.

"Maybe," he repeated, with less certainity this time.

"Why are you here?"

"What?" Haymitch rolled his eyes. "What are you even asking?"

She looked at him directly and her face was unreadable all of a sudden. "It wasn't very nice of Chaff to bring up what happened with Plutarch."

He felt his body tense against his free will. "What do you know about it?"

Effie winced at his defensive tone. "Nothing. I am just curious."

"Then don't be," he lashed out.

Effie gently placed her palm on Haymitch's shoulder, but he shrugged it off violently. His brain was partly delayed due to the bubbling anger in his core. _The nerve of this bitch_. He didn't know how deeply she was enlightened, he didn't know what Plutarch did or didn't tell her, and he knew that he shouldn't let her get too close because she was just like the rest of them - calculating, manipulative, all about herself - but whatever she knew, it wasn't from HIM, and whatever she knew, it was only a half-truth she took for real. She had put him in all of this, her and Chaff and Plutarch, and they didn't have any right to judge him, especially not _her_. She wasn't there - she had no right to open this particular old wound.

"I just wanted to know-" she hesitated, but not for long enough for him to say something, "I'm sorry if it is too personal, I was just curious what _exactly_ could have possibly made you accept this offer. Chaff said it was some old… debt-"

"Chaff says a lot of shit," he growled quietly, "and you don't stuck your nose into that shit, are we clear? It's not any of your fucking business. Just 'cause we're in this crap together doesn't mean that you get to-" his voice died down when he realized it was getting heated. "Just fuck off."

Effie stared at him in shock, but instead of adding something, she just sighed and looked away. The rustle of glossy papers let him know that she opened one of her magazines again, diving into her perfect little world where everything was as polished as the magazine's pages filled with stories of people like him, the so-called fallen stars, making money for people she was probably firends with, and he felt sick, sick of everything and particularly sick of her.

When the plane landed at the Marco Polo airport, everybody was thanking heavens that the journey was finally over. Somewhere between London and continental Europe, Haymitch had fallen asleep and he woke up with a twitch to a trifling turbulence, desoriented at first. Effie was also asleep, Peeta has moved over to Plutarch and was passionately discussing something with him, Katniss was reading a book and the pilot was announcing they were going to land soon.

Getting to step out of the small space with stale air and get the taste of hot, sweet, late evening mare aura could, however, get even him in a slightly better mood. Just the mere fact that he had a solid ground beneath his feet again, was good enough for him.

The hotel they were staying at was a three-story building with pale pink plaster and a pool in the backyard and the rooms, though not the biggest ones, seemed like heaven after such a trip.

Haymitch and Effie have not said anything to each other throught the rest of the day, not even at dinner that he had chosen to skip and went to bed instead - he fell asleep the second his head touched the pillow. After a long time, he was so tired that when he woke up the next morning, he, to his great relief, realized that he didn't have any dreams at all.

* * *

Author's note: There has been a little pause, but I'm totally going to start working on this story again. I really like this setting! Hope you liked it, and see you next week. x


	5. Water Under The Bridge

_/ While Effie Trinket is Hollywood's darling and all her dreams seem to be finally coming true, Haymitch Abernathy is drinking himself into an early grave and shuts the world out completely. However, Plutarch Heavensbee decides it's time for his comeback. The two main stars can't stand each other and tension builds up soon, but as they dive in deep into this project, somewhere between shooting love scenes, fighting on-set, fighting off-set, opening up hesitantly and helping their younger colleagues deal with everything this world brings, they grow closer and closer, until one day they realize they're not pretending anymore. | Hayffie Actors AU /_

 **"WATER UNDER THE BRIDGE"**

 _i._

 _April, Venice_

"Careful with the blush!"

The brush slithered down Effie's cheek, leaving a coral red streak all the way down from her cheekbone to her jaw. She looked up to meet Venia's eyes.

"I'll do it."

"I'm used to doing my own make-up," Effie told her, but she was already taking the brush from her shaky fingers and gently pressing a cotton tampon soaked in softly smelling miceral water to the affected area. "Seriously, there's no need-"

"Miss Trinket, this is my job," the other woman cut her off ruthlessly and turned her on the swivel make-up chair to take a proper look on her creation. "It's not bad."

"I'd say so," Effie gave her a nasty glance. However, she was glad she could finally put her hand down. It was trembling so badly that when she tried to pour herself some coffee this morning, she splashed it around a little. It took all of her will to try to blame it on having low sugar or low blood pressure or whatever. It was jet-lag and the exhaustion from the travelling, the night of crappy sleep that even the sleeping pills she was told to absolutely _not_ mix with the dampening drugs she had instead of breakfast could not save. "I don't like it when somebody tells me what to do with myself."

Venia, a head taller than Effie and so thin that she would pass for a if it came down to it, with platinum blonde hair straightened and backcombed into every possible direction, had the clearest brown eyes Effie had ever seen, like diluted hot chocolate, that were wide and had the peculiar ability of burning into your skin and bones and brain. They weren't knowing or understanding, just really sharp and Effie felt like her own pale blue ones, bloodshot with dark circles beneath, couldn't battle them. She gave up and leant back against the make-up chair's headrest.

"I remember what we did on the rehearsals, so I just thought-"

"That you'd do my job instead?" Venia grabbed her chin to move her head from side to side and scanned her face again. "The blush is too much and it needs some counturing."

Effie closed her eyes and tried to relax. "Just do it."

The room smelled like powder, a mix of perfumes and styling hairsprays. It was the classical smell of movie sets, the smell of what she had been calling home for so many years by now, the smell that she loved more out of sentiment than present. Since the late 90's, when she had started her journey first as a model back home in Colorado, later as a comparsist on Broadway who eventually got all the leading roles, and finally, the America's ultimate new sweetheart, a lot of things have changed. Her love for this world was not one of them, it just kind of kept going away and coming back depending on whether it was a bad or a good day.

Today was a bad day.

A lot of travelling was simply a part of this lifestyle, but the older Effie got, the more tiring it was. She has spent half of the night wide awake, staring into the ceiling, battling the urge to have just _one more_ sleeping pill, and despite the fact that they were pretty strong, the other half of her night she spent locked between dreaming and being awake, but there could be no talking about proper sleep, something she hasn't had in months. And then there was, of course, the plane incident with Haymitch.

She felt bad about it, she wanted to apologize, she knew that she was being _too_ curious and it has definitely taught her to be more careful next time, however, despite his right to have some secrets, she didn't like it. She didn't like that she didn't know who she was really dealing with.

An aging alcoholic who, yes, was, once upon a time, a huge star, one of the best of the best, but that had been years ago, when he was someone else and the world was different as well. Something has happened between him and Plutarch and she wouldn't have cared so much if she knew that Plutarch was wrong when he called Haymitch a wild card. That's what he was - someone nobody could control or predict. That was, of course, all nice and praiseworthy, but in her eyes, it had taken away something very important to her - trust.

Maybe if she knew for sure that he was in it for one hundred percent, she wouldn't feel this need to go and pry for something. Plutarch told her to leave it be, but the hesitation in his face when he reassured her that Haymitch _definitely_ could be trusted was something that had only fed her fears more. And even though there generally weren't many things her and Coin could agree on, this mistrust was something they had in common. It was simply utterly insane to build an entire movie around someone who can be professional and reliable one day and show up wasted the other - in the better scenario, in the worst, he might completely drop out. She was so excited about the idea of working with him that she helped to drag him back into all of this and didn't take into consideration that her fantasies might come to grief.

And, apparently, he has already put Plutarch through a lot before.

However, truth be told, if she had hit him where he was weak, then she felt bad about it, end of story. She wanted to apologize. They needed to work out, to be a team - that couldn't happen if she kept upsetting him and if he kept pushing her away like this. As Plutarch has put it, nobody said that they needed to be exactly _friends_ \- they just mustn't be straight up hostile. Warming Haymitch Abernathy up wasn't supposed to be her task, but she had taken upon it anyway.

Now she just needed to complete it.

The door creaked and when she looked in the mirror, she saw the designer duo, Cinna and Portia, the most talented man who followed the trends only sporadically and his outfit never lacked a personal touch - this time, it was a golden eyeliner -, and a tall woman with black hair pulled back into a messy bun that she managed to look great in, and gave off the laid-back vibes of a fine arts student with her denim shorts with suspenders and oversized hoodie which pockets that were usually full of pieces of threads or material samples. "I see someone's got hands full."

"Miss Trinket decided I wasn't needed here," Venia said dryly when she patted the countur into Effie's skin, blending it into the rest of the make-up, a tone darker than she usually needed, and a tone lighter than Katniss usually wore - meeting compromises was part of the fun because her and Katniss shared some features, but were totally different types. "But I think I saved it."

"Come on, Miss Trinket," Cinna came over to press a chaste kiss into her hair, "let the people here do their jobs."

Effie rolled her eyes, but the smile crept up on her lips anyway. It was nice to finally be around familiar faces. _Friendly_ faces. "How long have you been here?"

"Two days," Portia said and pulled out a piece of metallic godlen pattern from her pocket. "Look. This is the material for your dress for the ball scene. I know that we originally talked about silver, but I mailed this to Plutarch and he said that him, Cressida and the props guys have decided to change the color spectrum in that sequence. But it's actually a good thing, this one's warmer. It's going to suit you better with that dark hair."

Effie reached for the sample and her fingers touched the brocade that felt rough under her skin and felt rough wearing it as well, but looked beautiful even in the fluorescent light of the make-up trailer. She remembered the dress well, it was truly a beautiful one, it was tight in all the right places and had a long train. Suddenly, a tremor hit her hand and she whisked it back, blush rising up her chest to her neck and cheeks. "Yes, I think golden is better."

"As we know Plutarch, he's going to change it seven times before he decides it's going to be silver." Cinna frowned at her. "Are you okay?"

"Jet-lagged," she replied curtly and took a sip of water from the bottle she had beneath the vanity. "I just need a few days."

"Okay." Cinna let it settle for a few seconds before changing the topic. "We just finished Haymitch."

Effie couldn't help the curiosity that started lightly bubbling inside her stomach. "How did it go?"

"Not that bad. It all happened so fast that we didn't have much time to make Fortunately, some of Seneca's fit him," he replied, not with relief, but with slight discomfort. Bringing Seneca's name up was still a thorny issue not only around Effie - everyone here knew him, and though not everybody liked him, at least they all respected him. They didn't ask quesitons and they didn't pry for answers - they didn't feel any need to bathe in the tragedy his death was.

"He doesn't like it when people take pictures of him, though," Portia added in amusement and reached into her pocket again. She pulled out a small polaroid photo of Haymitch sitting in the chair of one of the make-up trailers with hair unusually clean and tamed, wearing a white shirt and brand new jeans, stylized into a retro look - he looked great, actually, except for the deep frown that was plastered all over his face and made him appear even grumpier than usual. Effie couldn't help the smile that cracked her mouth.

"No, he doesn't," she confirmed and gave the picture back. "He cleans up nice, though."

Portia nodded and rubbed her nose like she always did when she was thinking of something she didn't want to say out lout. "Yeah, he does."

"It's done," Venia announced and took a step back to judge the result. "I'd say it's the best I can do right now."

"It looks awesome, Venia," Portia reassured her and tapped on Effie's shoulder. "Let's get you dressed."

 _ii._

The early morning sunshine caressed his cheeks and eyes through his lowered lashes. Air was salty with the hazy vision of early a.m. by the sea. Sky was clear on the horizon and the clouds above his head looked like pieces of tattered fluffy cotton. Everything from the white lines airplanes left behind them on the blue arch over the town to the incerdibly soft breeze that smelled like flowers and coffee was promising a beautiful day.

Too bad that Haymitch wasn't one to adapt his moods to his surroundings.

So, despite Venice being undoubtly a lovely place, and a calm one as well, sitting in a folding chair in the morning heat, with a cheap paper cup of automat coffee, brushes moving over his face, hands adjusting his hair and clothes, that simply wasn't for him anymore. Someone might say that it's like riding a bike - you never really forget it. You just get on the damn bike and do your thing. Well, he was still trying to figure out how to keep balance on this bike that was threatening to fall over to one side any second, no helmet, no protectors, no training wheels or brakes, nothing but a really rapid downhill on the horizon.

If anything, though, having a chair with his name on the back of it wasn't _that_ bad. As Chaff said - let's find a silver lining.

So, that chair was one silver lining. Another one was the fact that when the costume couple, the guy with golden eyeliner and the woman who kept jabbing him with a needle when she was adjusting the costumes, left him alone in the make-up trailer, he poured the standby whiskey into the coffee. Yes, he knew that he should save it, but there was absolutely _no_ way he was going to make it through the first day on dry.

And another silver lining was definitely that he hasn't seen anyone from the cast yet. And that, truth be told, was the best gift God could have given to him that morning.

And exactly _that_ was taken away from him when he looked up from the screenplay to see her walk towards him. He wouldn't have guessed that it was her - he could only tell so by her body language, by the way she carried herself. Her hair was suddenly dark and shoulder-lenght, just a little shorter than they were - a wig, probably -, her clothes were matching his, 50's and in light and creamy colors. She looked good in them. He felt horrible. They were tailor-made for Seneca Crane and it was almost morbid to wear them. A few adjustments and no one would have guessed that they weren't for him, but his morals just weren't pleased with this.

Then again, his morals got him into this scorcher, into these damn clothes, right in front of Effie Trinket who tried to toss her hair over her shoulder but failed because it was too short and decided to hide it by frowning at him as if he was the cause of everything bad in the world. As if _she_ had any right to be fed up with him. He did exactly what she asked from him; he made a promise that he was going to keep. He was just going to do it on his own terms – and if she had a problem with that, then she could kiss his ass.

She pouted and raised one eyebrow, also suddenly a lot darker. He had to admit that she looked great with dark hair; bolder, more mysterious, and a little bit younger, but that was probably thanks to the make-up. They did wonders with him as well. She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture at the two make-up assistants that were powdering his nose and crumbling the powder into his coffee and when they were gone, she placed her hands on her hips and waited.

"Has no one ever told you that if you keep treating people this way, you're gonna get decked one day?"

"This is not a trial for your legal capacity," she informed him sharply. "I am sorry if I touched a sensitive place yesterday, but we need to cooperate, and that won't do if-"

"If you keep on being so bitchy," he cut her off. In a nonchalant gesture, he brought the coffee to his lips. "I'm here on time, sober, and ready to ignore you unless it's totally necessary to spend time with you, which would save us a lot of problems. Keep your distance, sweetheart."

Effie was quite quick and that surprised him; she wrapped her fingers around his wrist and pulled it to her face, then smelled the liquid in the hot white paper cup and her expression changed from shocked to angry to inappropriately satisfied. She let go of him and folded her arms over her chest. "So _sober_ , you're saying?"

"It's just whiskey," he muttered and scowled at her. "Just one cup."

"It's eight in the morning, but I guess it's never too early for an alcoholic." She jerked her head. "Spill it out."

"No."

"I said _spill it out_ ," she growled, voice low, eyes narrowed. Her lower lip trembled with suppressed rage. "Spill it out or I will tell Plutarch."

Haymitch couldn't help but snore at that cheap threat. "How old are you, eight? What can he do anyway? Kick me out?" He drank the rest of the coffee in one gulp. "As if he can afford that. Pick your battles, sweetheart."

"You- _you-_ "

"Go ahead, say it," he teased her and got off the chair. When he was moving past her, he chose to annoy her a bit further, and gently grabbed her chin which prompted her to bat his hand away violently.

She shook her head and her neck was covered in red stains. "You are a brute, an absolute _brute_!"

"Sure."

"Here are my stars!" They both looked over in the direction of the sound. Plutarch was approaching them with a broad smile, waving the screenplay excitedly, with coffee – in a proper mug, not a cheap paper cup – in one hand. A few steps behind him, with arms full of clipboards and papers, was a woman with black hair pinned up on top of her head, wearing a silky white costume that must have been uncomfortable in this heat, and dark purple lipstick in heavy contrast with her pale skin. "Effie, Haymitch," he addressed them, "this," he gestured towards the woman, "is Fulvia Cardew, my right hand. If you ever need anything and can't get me, Fulvia is here to handle it."

They shook hands briefly and exchanged _nice to meet yous_ and then Fulvia looked at her watch, then at a timetable in one of her clipboards, and snapped her fingers. "The shooting starts in five minutes. The first take is, as you know, the gondola scene, page seventeen. Get in your places!"

It wasn't all new for Haymitch at all, but still – getting back to all of this felt strange. The shooting plan wasn't chronological and the very first scene they were going to shoot was actually placed somewhere half-way into the movie – very soon after Jack, Haymitch's character, and Effie's Gianna reunited. They were having a talk on a gondola and they were supposed to _kiss_. When they did the cold reading in New York two weeks ago, they totally skipped that part and he had forgotten about it until he read the script again this morning.

Memorizing the script in general was more difficult for him than he had expected. He had troubles with memory due to the years of alcohol abuse and after the whiskey in the coffee, he wasn't very confident – but he had to get through that.

He owed it to Plutarch, and that was the only thing that might keep him going in the next few months. The idea of an old debt was too embarrassing, too painful, it was _humiliating_. He had to work through that.

Haymitch and Effie quickly went over their parts, got some directions from Plutarch and got into the boat. They found themselves sitting next to each other, with no one but the gondola guy and Pollux, one of the three camera operators, (the other being Castor and the main one being Cressida, a young and rather innovative woman who had a lot of successful movies in her account despite her age), as company.

"Don't you dare to spoil this," Effie hissed in a whisper, but kept smiling for the camera, because she knew Plutarch was watching. Haymitch saw that as a metaphor to her Hollywood lifestyle and once again wondered why people kept acting so surprised when he told them that he wasn't interested in this anymore.

"Don't you worry, doll," he replied and felt this smug satisfaction at her narrowed eyes and annoyed expression.

"We're starting," Plutarch announced from the shore and looked into the screen that was showing him what Pollux was shooting. "This looks brilliant. You two look awesome on this. So, get ready, everyone! Camera… lights… seriously, Wan, _lights_ , am I right, Cressida?... and… _action!_ "

Haymitch watched Effie's face go full-mode professional – her facial expression had zero to do with the mischievous woman that was sitting next to him just seconds ago, and he would have no troubles believing her the role of a war widow who had just found her husband again – her eyes were emotional but hard at the same time, sparkling with tears she just came up with at the spot, her lips were white from being pursed together so tightly, but trembled from the feelings that have apparently been locked inside for a time too long for a human to take; he was impressed by it, though his own performance couldn't be that bad, either.

When he stopped acting, he promised to himself that he'd just be honest until the end of his life, that he wouldn't pretend again, that's how much he resented acting, but he had never fully delivered on his promise. He kept pretending in front of everyone; in front of all the people who kept offering him help or at least compassion, in front of the women he took to bed, in front of the few friends he had left, in front of himself, just so he wouldn't have to look the truth into its eyes.

He was far too well-trained at this.

"Stop," Plutarch's discordant voice cut the scene before they could even deliver a single line, "Effie, maybe move on the opposite seat. You look good next to each other but it will have better effect if you can look just _directly_ eye-to-eye – like you've got nowhere else to look."

" _Fine,_ " she sighed and carefully stood up. Haymitch reached out to her to help her if she needed to hold onto him, but he slightly pushed her instead.

It happened all too fast - she lost her balance, her face went from surprised to shocked, changed color from red to plain pale... and then she let out a small cry of helplesness before she fell off the gondola, staright into the water, the only trace of her presence being the big splash of the dirty channel water all over all the passengers of the boat.

What followed was mostly automatic - he cursed, then shrugged the jacket off his shoulders, pushed Pollux aside and jumped into the water right after her.

She was splashing the water around as she screamed and flapped her arms all around frantically. He didn't know if she could swim, but she was apparently in shock, and yeah, leaving her be would have saved him a lot of trouble, but he moved towards her nevertheless, getting a solid shower in his face from her panicked kicking and waving.

"You okay?" he asked roughly when he got close enough.

"You- you- _idiot_ -" she was gasping for air, but ignored his attempts at getting a solid grasp upon her.

"You'll have time for that later," he grunted and wrapped one arm around her waist and gripped her tightly, fisting her blouse and pushing her properly above the surface, then he looked around. The boat was closer but he wasn't going to risk getting the cameraman wet as well.

"Are you two alright?" Plutarch's worried voice resonated in the narrow channel between the old houses.

"We're fine," Haymitch shouted back and dragged Effie towards the safety of the concrete pavement.

She wasn't making this an easy task, though, pushing him away and wriggling. "Let go!" she shrieked and repeatedly hit him, causing him to lose hold on her more than once.

"Can it!" he growled and kept swimming with her to the shore. Finally, he touched the stable ground and grabbed her hips to push her up - several people of the crew and extras were already there to help him get her out of the cold, dirty water. She kept whimpering and cursing him with words he couldn't imagine _her_ being capable of ever letting out - and then she was finally safe.

They helped Haymitch up as well, already putting a blanket over his shoulders and asking if he was fine, but his focus was on her - and she was already marching away, drenched to the bone, hands curled into fists, shaking with dead rage, water dripping from her clothes that were adhering to her limply.

One thing was for sure - if there was something waiting for him that day, it certainly wasn't gratitude.

 _iii._

" _This has gone way too far!_ "

Plutarch winced at her high-pitched shout and raised his hands in a peaceful gesture, but she waved it off violently and kept pacing back and fort in the make-up trailer, leaving drips of water on the pale lino floor. The anger that has posessed her has succesfully erased all good reason.

"Calm down for a second," Haymitch cut in sharply from his defeated position by the doorftame, but she accepted zero interruptions.

"Don't you dare to speak to me!" she snapped and pointed at him like a child accusing someone of stealing their crayon. "Plutarch," she looked over to the director angrily, "he pushed me into the water! You _saw_ it!"

"No, I'm sorry, Effie," Plutarch shook his head and shot Haymitch an unhappy look. "I didn't see that. From what I saw, it was merely an unfortunate accident. That is it."

" _That is it?_ " Effie couldnmt believe her ears. "That is _so_ not it! He is going to recieve a punshiment-"

Haymitch's chuckles interrupted her. " _Punishment?_ Like what, standing in the corner?" He shook his head at her slightingly and that only fueled her fury, but he couldn't help himself – he couldn't listen to this anymore. "You're ridiculous, sweetheart."

"Don't call me sweetheart!" she screamed. "I am _insisting_ on him facing the consequences!"

"Effie, calm down," Plutarch's tune grew stern, the ever-present wrinkle on his forehead from years of constant worry appearing even deeper, as always when he got upset. "It was an accident, it wasn't Haymitch's fault, but if you'd feel better if he apologized-"

"I ain't apologizing," the other man spat and Effie turned to him with what she believed was her best dead stare that she was capable of in this state of such passionate anger.

" _What did you say?_ "

"That I'm not apologizing," he repeated a little louder and crossed his arms on his broad chest. "It's not my problem that you can't stand on your own and it's sure as hell not my fault. I fucking _helped you_. Fuck off."

Plutarch clicked his tongue in disapproval and shot Haymitch a warning look. "That's not necessary."

"Fire him," Effie screeched, "just _fire him_! He's impossible, incapable-"

" _Incapable_?" He shouted back, his neck slowly blending into reddish tones, and the wrinkles on his forehead became more prominent, too. "Careful with that mouth of yours, okay? I never asked for this, _you_ dragged me here-"

"I didn't know that you'd be such a... such a..."

"Go ahead, say it, sweetheart."

" _Don't call me sweetheart_!"

" _Enough!_ " Plutarch's forceful voice resonated through the limited space and put an effective stop to the wet duo's tantrum. " _Enough_. Both of you are going to _calm down_ and be rational and mature. Haymitch, apologize-"

"I won't apologize," he disagreed resolutely and looked at Effie with poorly-hidden disgust. "Certainly not to _you_."

So she decided to resort to live ammunition. "He drank," she announced, flashing Haymitch a cold smile. "This morning."

"You fucking bitch," Haymitch growled, his skin looked like it was on fire. His hands were curled into fists - she had seriously angered him and she couldn't care less.

"What?" Plutarch turned to him, partly in exhaustion, partly in conrcern. He frowned. "Haymitch, is that true?"

"Does it matter?" he shouted and roughly shoved away the hand Plutarch was trying to put on his shoulder. "You know what? Fuck you both." He pushed his friend aside and tried to walk out, but stepped back in surprise when a tall pair entered the trailer at the same time - they were both fairly young, in their mid-twenties, she had short dark hair and a black leather jacket tied around her waist; his hair were reddish, voluminous, and his eyes were green like the sea outside. Everyone paused for a second.

"I see it's getting wild here," the woman remarked. Johanna Mason. Effie had met her once, as well as the man, Finnick Odair. Her brown eyes shone in mockery when she noticed Effie and Haymitch's state, but didn't ask anything just yet.

"Johanna," Plutarch sighed, as if the two have come at the exact wrong moment, but politely outstreched his hand to welcome either of them anyway. "What are you doing here already?"

"We were told we's find you here," she sneered. "I didn't expect much gratitude, anyway. One goes half through the world just to see our little drama queen start yet another scene – if I got the memo right."

Effie straightened her back and threw her hair over her shoulder, kind of missing the effect since it was still wet. The soaked wig was thrown over the chair, her make-up was running down her face and she was red with anger and shaking with cold. That wasn't a state she was willing to argue wih Johanna Mason in, because that woman had always had a problem with her and truth be told, Effie wasn't exactly eager to become her friend, either. "And you are as charming as always."

"At least I don't look like a drowned cat," the younger woman deadpaned and turned to Haymitch who was still torn between leaving like he longed to do, or staying as his curiosity was urging him to. "Abernathy. That's impossible."

"Apparently not." He gifted Effie with a sharp glance. Everything was suggesting that he was going to get along with Johanna. If nothing else, they both hated her, and that was a solid topic to bring two people together.

Finnick shook Haymitch's hand briefly, genuine respect showing in his young, otherwise playful eyes. "Nice to meet you."

The legend that Effie was just two steps away from killing a mere minute ago just grunted something in response.

"Why are you so wet, by the way?" Johanna chuckled and pulled a pack of crisps out of her pocket and sat up on the vanity.

"Let's skip that," Plutarch proposed. "How was your flight?"

"Long and boring," Finnick said and took off his expensive denim jacket and handed it to Effie. "Here, so the lady doesn't catch a cold. Are you doing fine?"

"Well I have been better," she said undertone and let him place the jacket over her shoulders. "Thank you, Finnick."

Haymitch seemed to be finally running out of patience. "Can we just quit this circus already?"

"We're not done yet," Effie warned him while Plutarch shrugged, and before he had any chance to slip out of the door, she was already outside. She was almost sure she heard Johanna mutter something under her breath - and she didn't care, already too humiliated, too angry, and oh, so damn cold.


	6. Helping Hand

/ While Effie Trinket is Hollywood's darling and all her dreams seem to be finally coming true, Haymitch Abernathy is drinking himself into an early grave and shuts the world out completely. However, Plutarch Heavensbee decides it's time for his comeback. The two main stars can't stand each other and tension builds up soon, but as they dive in deep into this project, somewhere between shooting love scenes, fighting on-set, fighting off-set, opening up hesitantly and helping their younger colleagues deal with everything this world brings, they grow closer and closer, until one day they realize they're not pretending anymore. | Hayffie Actors AU /

 **"HELPING HAND"**

 _i._

 **NOW**

The camera flashes were blinding. The rush was overwhelming. The reflectors were too bright and the place was too crowded. It was all extremes and there was no time to take a break from them when she stopped before the entrance to the red carpet area and took a deep breath as if she was the nineteen-year-old girl attending her first premiere again.

She was in the movie for exactly three minutes and forty-seven seconds back then and everybody looked at it like it was the greatest achievement Effie could get in her life, but it wasn't enough for her. It wasn't what she knew she could reach, and it _definitely_ wasn't all she would get. She was too determined than to settle with supporting roles and living her life out on Broadway. She wanted the world to lie at her feet. She wanted men to lust after her and she wanted women to strive to be her. She wanted the cameras, she wanted the leading roles, she wanted this shiny red Dior gown and those skyscraper Dior heels and her name on the list of nominees.

She had it, all of it, and she still didn't feel any pride or happiness or even satisfaction, because the only person she wanted to share this with wasn't here.

"Are you even coming to the party later?" Johanna asked and sleeked her electric blue long-sleeved velvet dress that was tight in all the right places and made the usually street-style oriented young woman look like a goddess with its long veil and diamond-decorated choker made of the same material. She measured Effie with her wide, cynical chocolate eyes and sighed, finally cracking some mercy upon her. "Have you been like this the _entire time_?"

"It's just harder for me now," Effie old her quietly. She was very well-aware of what she looked like. She looked defeated, and there was no point in hiding it in front of Johanna. The disappointment was too big to hide. "I just hoped…"

" _Hope_ ," Johanna spat and took Effie by her arm, not exactly gently, and walked her a few steps away to make space for the other celebrities to enter the carpet. "Trinket, you're one hell of a drama queen. He's not here – so what?" She frowned, put her hands on her hips and jerked her head towards Katniss and Peeta who were waiting a few yards away, laughing at something on Peeta's phone, and towards Finnick, Annie and Mags who were in a lively conversation with Plutarch. " _We_ are here," she hissed, "so _light the fuck up_. Don't spoil it for us – besides, you deserve to enjoy this. You did your job well even without him, so you can carry on with that now."

Effie stared at Johanna in genuine and rightful shock. "Johanna-"

"If he came, I'd gladly stick something up his coward ass, anyway, so it's maybe better that he's _not_ here." Johanna took Effie by her wrist and squeezed it tightly with a mischievous smirk. "C'mon. Let's show him what he's missing."

"Johanna," Effie cracked a genuine laughter, "thank you."

"Don't _thank_ me, just stop _keeping_ me," the younger woman tugged at her wrist, "they're waiting for us."

 _ii._

 **BEFORE**

 _April, Venice_

Effie let the hot water drips trail down her soaked hair, naked spine, pearly-white arms, long lean legs and pool by her pink-painted toenails. She saw her reflection in the shower's glass door, her mascara was running and so was her nose, because despite her best attempts, she still didn't get rid of the rigor that had taken over her when she got out of the freezing, filthy water.

God, she was so _angry_. It was just genuine, hot anger, directed at no one else but Haymitch Abernathy who, if she had the opportunity, she'd gladly repeatedly hit with something into his head. There was no one she had ever felt so much whole-hearted disgust for.

He _had_ tried. After she had ran away from the trailer, following her fit of rage, he went after her. He had tracked her down to the costume trailer where she had chosen to hide, and tried to talk to her. However, in her eyes, he was the originator of everything that could possibly go wrong, and it had only ended up in a heated fight that went on for whole long minutes and had apparently amused the hell out of everyone in earshot. He told her she was an arrogant bitch, she told him that he was just a drunken good-for-nothing and they have mutually sent each other to go screw themselves. He was the one who walked out on her this time, and she didn't even attempt to stop him.

Why should she? He missed up _big time_. She had spent thirty minutes under the shower and she still felt dirty and chilled to the bone. He had ruined the entire shooting day – one day that was going to cost everyone time and money, not that there was already exactly an excess of either. It wouldn't be nearly as bad if she knew that he was sober. But no – he had to come there with that arrogant expression on his face and a cup of some Virginia-style Irish coffee and blasted about having it all together. Sure thing.

The filming was a disaster so far.

She violently turned off the water, already sick of the tangerine-scented shower gel she had been covering her whole body in for the last half an hour, reached for her puffy white towel with her monogram that she had brought from home, wrapped herself in it and walked out of the bathroom.

While she curtained the window and started drying herself, she noticed, in the corner of her eye her phone that was lying on the chest of drawers by the window.

Of course, Effie thought of Seneca daily. Not all the time, but often enough to make her feel regretful. By the pool, where she liked it the most and where he could have been sitting next to her or where she could watch him while he was swimming; before she fell asleep, because she knew that if he could be here, he'd be falling asleep next to her, under the same blanket, breathing the same air, their bare skins brushing against each other; when she was walking around the set and thinking of how everything could have been so very different, had he still been here.

She liked Venice but she couldn't wait for the filming to finally move to Florence, where she'd get much more shooting time. She needed to distract herself and there was no better way to do than to fully immerse herself into her job. Now, that she had nothing much to do, she was more likely to get consumed by her ever-present melancholia – and to give into her tendency to be obsessively watching what was going on back home.

The surprising answer was simple – nothing.

Olivia Royston, her publicist and long-time friend, managed to handle the past few rocky weeks gracefully and with a clear mind, something Effie was incapable of lately, too heartbroken and too worried about her career. Now, everything seemed to be settling down and though she knew that real acceptance still wasn't in her ability at the moment, the worst was _finally_ behind her. Getting to go away for some time was helpful and the one thing she kept in her mind was that the public's short-term memory is very bad. They might dig out some dirt from time to time or bring it up again when enough months have passed and they were lacking their banner headlines, but nobody _really_ cared.

Except Seneca's fiancée, of course.

Fiona Winchester has reached out to Effie many times – after Seneca's death, after his funeral, and after she had learned that they have already casted Haymitch into Seneca's role and that Effie was the one to help them organize this. She has called Effie many things, starting with _whore_ , and definitely not stopping at a _hyena_ who was just using Seneca for his fame and was still trying to profit from his death. Effie's publicist, her lawyers and her management were supposed to handle this, but Effie knew what it felt like to be in Fiona's shoes – she had been with Aiden for five years, after all.

So, truth be told, she was more worried about what Fiona's rightful anger could do to her career than the public's fleeting opinions.

True to the credo that no news are also good news, she decided to put all her worries to rest for now and had strictly forbidden herself to try to contact Olivia. After all, if things got bad, she'd know.

She put on a baby blue sundress and a brownish cardigan and started blow-drying her hair, but stopped half-way through, put the dryer back into the holder, sprayed on some perfume, put on some mascara and blush and left her room in determination.

That determination hadn't left her even after she realized that she had no idea where Haymitch's room was. Running around the complex looking for him wasn't what she was willing to do just to get to yell at him, but then she imagined slapping him and it had not only slightly improved her mood, but also reinforced her resolve. Besides, there weren't that many places where he could be. It was either the cafeteria, the lobby, the pool, the internet café or the pool bar. Or maybe he had stayed on the set, but under no circumstances was she going back there today. It was too humiliating.

There was no trace of him in the café or the lobby, so she headed out. When she walked into the pool area, Peeta and Finnick were already there, sitting on a bench. Finnick was sitting with his back straight as a ruler, with his head up in the air and a dead serious expression on his face while Peeta was drawing something into his sketchbook and had a small mischievous smile on his cracked lips. His freckled face lit up when he looked up and saw her.

"Effie," he said and Finnick looked over as well, "do you wanna join?"

"Thank you, Peeta, but I am actually looking for someone," she said, but out of courtesy walked closer nevertheless. She looked over to Peeta's lap where he had his pencil case and a paper with the drawing. "Now that is a piece of art."

"What?" Finnick reached for the paper and whisked it from Peeta's hands who was trying to take it away from him with a chuckle. "I said a _portrait_! That's a caricature, boy. I'm offended, you know? I'm leaving now."

"See you," Peeta was still laughing when Finnick got up and dramatically ran his fingers through his reddish locks.

"I'm now going to find a better company." He turned to Effie and did something like a curtsy. "Not that there's better company than you, but here my personal portraitist is incapable of doing his job, so I have to act aggrieved now. See you at lunch."

He left them there alone, disappearing into the cafeteria where he headed straight to the dessert section where he winked at a ginger girl in the hotel's white uniform.

"Sissy," Peeta laughed and raised the sketchbook. "I might sometimes come draw here. It's quiet. It seems like we're the only guests in this whole place."

"I am actually fine with that," Effie admitted and watched him open the sketchbook and a glimpse of a few drawing and doodles have caught her attention. "Would you mind if I had a look?"

Peeta's ears and cheeks turned crimson. "I don't know, I mean- I don't mind, but… it's nothing much, really."

"I'm sure you are very talented," she said when he gave the notebook to her.

The very first drawing was a sketch of a sculpture by a rosebush. It wasn't colored, but the shading was brilliant, and it had an atmosphere and came across pretty realistic. In the right corner beneath it was Peeta's humble signature. The next few pages were similar scenes, and then there was an unfinished picture of the St. Mark's Basilica and the St. Mark's Square. Peeta had a significant sense of detail – the people in the streets, the ornamentation of the church, the atmosphere. He bothered to draw each face and each ice cream con and every old cobble.

"What are you saying, they are great," Effie argued genuinely and handed it back. "I am being serious, this must have taken you so much time and effort."

"Thanks, but not really," he replied, still blushing badly, "it kind of just finishes itself. It's a relax." He paused and then he seemed like he wanted to add something, but Effie's attention was distracted by a sight that deeply concerned her. Peeta's eyes followed her gaze through one of the many huge French windows that were the partition between the pool's sitting area and the inside bar. "Is that-"

"Yes," she gritted through her teeth.

"He doesn't look well."

"That's nothing against what's going to happen to him once I get him." Effie was up within milliseconds and already on her way to the bar with Peeta in tow.

The bar was empty, with no one but Haymitch sitting at one of the stools, not exactly stably, with three empty whiskey glasses surrounding the fourth, full one, and judging by his state, she could tell that it wasn't only three whiskeys that were running through his veins now. One look at the abashed bartender, a short dark-haired woman with tattoos covering her neck and arms, and she knew.

"It's okay," she told the bartender quietly and approached Haymitch from behind, who was saying something that was hardly eligible and to be honest, Effie felt like she didn't necessarily need to know. She hit his back and didn't even bother to make it gentle. "Seriously?"

He turned around violently, spilling the whiskey in the process. His face gave away the fact that he was hardly keeping it together, and when he saw Effie and Peeta, his expression shifted towards annoyed. "Hey, Trinkeeeet… came for a drink?" He turned to the bartender. "Two more!"

"Ignore him," Effie said sharply and gripped Haymitch by his biceps while looking over her shoulder. "Peeta, have you got any money here? He'll give it back to you later…"

"I wrote it on his room," the bartender informed them in a strong Italian accent, shaking her head. "It's eleven in the morning. Is he okay?"

"He won't be soon," Effie promised her. "Thank you."

Together, her and Peeta threw Haymitch's arms over their shoulders and went on their journey to the elevators, hoping no one was going to see this mess.

"Trinket," Haymitch put his face way too close to her own, his lips nearly touching her ear which prompted a shiver down her spine, his breath smelling like liquor and held-back vomit, "let's have a drink… Plut- Plutarch wants us to be friends… are we friends Trinket?"

"I'm going to kill you," she answered his question simply.

"Haymitch, are you alright?" Peeta asked when the older man let out an ugly drunken hiccup. "Are you getting sick?"

"Yeah, this whole time," Haymitch's legs entangled and he temporarily lost his balance, nearly taking both Effie and Peeta with him, hadn't it been for Peeta's strong arms holding him up. "I'm sick of everything… I'm sick of this all… and of you, Trinket…"

"Yes, and you are an absolute darling, aren't you," she fired back absent-mindedly, looking over the lobby. No one, but the receptionist was there – she gave them a curious look, but didn't say anything. The elevator took insanely long to come – way too long, because Haymitch obviously _was_ getting pretty sick.

"I'm gonna… I'm gonna-"

"No!" both of them let out, and the elevator came just in time – they got in, smashed the button with the third floor, the door closed and Haymitch's stomach did some akin to a backflip. The next second, its content was all over Effie's yellow dress.

" _YOU IDIOT-"_

"Effie-" Peeta's fingers touched her arm as he reached out to her over Haymitch's shoulders in a calming gesture.

"I can't believe this," she lashed out, pushing Haymitch away just when the door opened. To their great relief, this hall was empty as well. Peeta was definitely right about the place being very calm. "I'm going to _murder_ him. Which room is it?"

"I don't know," Peeta turned to Haymitch. "Which room?"

"I don't know…" he hiccupped again, gripping their shoulders tightly. "I think... I don't know… I've gotta-"

"It should be on the card," Effie said and reached into the pocket of Haymitch's jeans.

"You didn't even let me buy you a drink and you're sticking your hand in my pants?"

Effie was about to spat something in return, but she just got the card and pulled it out. "Twenty-four."

They stumbled with their drunken co-star a few doors back and clumsily put the card into the code reader. Together, all three got into the room and Effie let Peeta lead Haymitch directly into the en-suited bathroom form which she could hear the typical sounds following a heavy drinking and shut the door behind her.

She took a defeated look at her dress. She smelled like liquor, vomit and the expensive clothes were ruined for good – she certainly wasn't keeping them after this. His room was messy, she had expected that, but it was also _dirty_ and she was disgusted by it, almost as much as by what he had just done to her dress. There was a pool of whiskey and shards of a broken bottle by his bed, which was probably what had lead him into the bar. After silently cursing him, she entered the bathroom to see Peeta helping Haymitch out of his dirty clothes covered in whiskey and vomit stains.

"Is he going to be okay?"

"Yeah, sure." Peeta threw Haymitch's shirt into the sink and turned on the water in the shower. "You can go put yourself together, I can manage it here."

Effie pouted at the prospect. "Are you sure? I shouldn't leave you here like this…"

"If there's a problem, I'll let you know," Peeta promised. "I'll stay with him for a while. He shouldn't be alone. I'll order him some coffee and something light to eat. It's going to be alright."

"Fine," she agreed finally, fully aware that it didn't take that much to persuade her and she wasn't even feeling too bad about it. She walked over to Peeta to caress his arm gratefully and bowed down to Haymitch who was mumbling something she couldn't properly make out. Just as she was about to tell him that he was going to regret this tomorrow day, he threw up again. "Okay," she stood up straight and adjusted her clothes, quite uselessly, considering their state. "Thank you so much, Peeta. I'll come check on you two once I… get rid of this," she waved at the horribly smelling stains on her dress and left the bathroom.

Once she closed the door behind her, she faced Plutarch.

"Effie-" he eyed her up and down questioningly, taking in the stains on her dress and the angry flush on her cheeks. "What happened? Isn't that Haymitch's room?"

"Yes, he…" she hesitated for a second, "he got sick. Peeta is there with him."

She could see the suspicion of the worst dancing across his features, so she had chosen to elaborate. "He ate something bad. He's going to be okay, just minor food poisoning, I'd say."

"Oh God…" Plutarch sighed heavily and rubbed his temple. "Is he going to be okay? I need him to be fine, we've got two more scenes to do here…"

"He'll be perfectly fine by tomorrow," Effie reassured him promptly, "trust me, it's nothing serious. He just needs to get it all out and rest. Peeta said he'll tell me how he's doing."

"Where did you two even disappear?" He asked angrily. "I was just looking for you. I thought you would both come back once you put yourselves together, and then Cressida comes and says that you have both decided to just-"

"I'm so sorry, Plutarch," she interrupted him sternly, "but I can't work with him. It's just beyond me right now-"

"Effie, you are an _actress_ ," he hissed. "For the love of God. You don't have to like each other, though I'd prefer it if you did. But just _do your job_. Get over your egos. I'm sorry about what happened this morning, but listen to this – I don't care what is going on between you two, I don't care if you show up drunk or sober, I don't care if your mothers died, I don't care if-" he inhaled sharply when he realized he was raising his voice a little too much. "Whatever happens, you two are going to be on the set tomorrow morning, exactly at eight, ready to do what you have promised me to do. Are we clear?"

Effie felt the blush appearing on her chest and neck, but decided to keep decorum. "Very well," she said quietly, "I will make sure of that."

"Okay. I'll come take a look at him later." He measured Effie with one more doubtful look. "I just hope it wasn't the lobsters." With that, he turned around to disappear in the elevator.

 _iii._

Haymitch hadn't appeared during dinner, which wasn't surprising, and when Effie asked Peeta, he said that he was still asleep. Peeta took Haymitch's card with the words that he didn't need it right now anyway and went to check on him every two hours. Effie went with him after dinner, in a clean salmon dress, with a glass of water, a bowl of chicken soup she had ordered to her room, and a bottle of Advil.

He was lying on his stomach, in a stained white t-shirt and grey sweatpants, and these clothes were drained with sweat. His facial muscles were jerking and he was shaking in his sleep. When she carefully placed the back of her hand on his forehead, she grew worried. "I think he has a fever. Maybe we should call someone."

"Wait," Peeta said and ran out, leaving the door cracked open. From the hall, Effie could hear a knocking and quiet voices.

While she waited, she watched the man in the bed. He was repelling and the mere look at him made her _so_ angry. _This_ was exactly what she was so afraid would happen. _This_ was what they could have expected to happen. She'd gladly slap him all over his face and she just wanted him to get better so she could accomplish that.

"We're back," Peeta announced when he rushed back into the room with Katniss at his feet. She had her hair in a loose side braid and her grumpy face and a phone in her hand were clear indicators that taking care of Haymitch Abernathy wasn't what she had planned to do this evening. "Katniss' mum is a nurse. She knows what to do."

"Actually, I don't. _I_ 'm not a nurse," the girl replied moodily, setting her grey eyes on the sleeping Haymitch. "What happened?"

Effie sighed. "He got drunk. We don't know how much he had, but I don't think it's normal to sleep for so long, and he looks like he has a fever, so..."

With a resigned grunt, Katniss walked over to him, pressed her hand against his forehead like Effie previously did, put her palm on his back to feel his fitful breathing and looked over to them. "How much does he drink?"

Neither of them knew the answer. "He has problems with this, we all know that," Peeta said, "he was supposed to get somewhat sober before coming here."

"But he drank today," Effie added, rage taking over her once more when she remembered that day.

"It could be withdrawals, but I'm not sure." Katniss got up and started typing something on her phone. "Maybe he knew he was falling into it so he went to get something to drink and had too much. He should be fine, but I'll ask mum."

"I'll tell Chaff," Effie decided. "Thank you, Katniss. Maybe we should leave him be for now. We'll see in the morning."

Katniss nodded without much concern and put the phone into the pocket of her corduroy brown pants, already on the leave. "Someone should check on him before going to bed."

"Thanks," Peeta said, but Katniss was on her way out of the door and didn't pay any attention to his gratitude. "And sorry for bothering."

Effie folded her arms over her chest and pouted. "Is everyone from the South like this?"

"I'm not," Peeta chuckled lightly. "I'll check on him before I'll go to sleep and if he's not better tomorrow morning, we'll tell Plutarch what happened and will take him to the hospital or something."

"I'll come take a look at him, too," Effie said defeatistly, uncomfortable with the thought of letting the boy look after this absolutely unpredictable man on his own. "Just knock on my door when you're going."

The whole filming was, indeed, already a disaster.

 _iv._

 _The night was ink dark, soaked with the smell of drying rain on the concrete and filled with wet fog, leaving petite drops of water on the windshield, rearview mirror and the battered bodywork. The wipers were still on, running frantically from one side to the other and his eyes followed them. He couldn't remember how to turn them off._

 _He saw the front lights in his peripheral vision, but his reactions were too slow. The rough leather of the steering wheel felt slippery beneath his palms, even though they were sweaty, and the highway in front of him was, he could swear, winding, but, and he was almost sure of that, there weren't supposed to be any corners or curves._

 _But there was someone else, someone who was touching his face, his neck, who was whispering something to him, and they somehow didn't fit into that narrative, but they weren't changing it, either. This narrative always led to the same ending._

 _The second car was way too close but his body wasn't collaborating with his brain's confused orders. He originally wanted to press the brake but it was too late; so he just pulled the steering wheel, but there was a crash nevertheless._

 _The last thing he heard was the crunch of tires, someone's screams and a deafening blast; the last thing he felt was the gravity-defeating force that launched him through the windshield._

 _v._

His whole body jerked and his eyes shot open. His vision was blurry, but he located a ceramic bowl and a glass of water on his nightstand. The windows were cracked open and there was a clean shirt for him on the chair beside the bed. The room smelled like disinfection and flowers. It took him a few seconds to realize that he wasn't in Richmond and that he wasn't in a hospital, either, and that there were no fresh flowers. The smell was vaguely familiar, though.


	7. First Time Again

/ While Effie Trinket is Hollywood's darling and all her dreams seem to be finally coming true, Haymitch Abernathy is drinking himself into an early grave and shuts the world out completely. However, Plutarch Heavensbee decides it's time for his comeback. The two main stars can't stand each other and tension builds up soon, but as they dive in deep into this project, somewhere between shooting love scenes, fighting on-set, fighting off-set, opening up hesitantly and helping their younger colleagues deal with everything this world brings, they grow closer and closer, until one day they realize they're not pretending anymore. | Hayffie Actors AU /

 **"FIRST TIME AGAIN"**

 _i._

 _April, Venice_

" _Here you are!_ " Plutarch's cheeks were red when he saw Haymitch stumbling to the set from the make-up trailer with a creased screenplay in one hand and a leather jacket in another, hoping he didn't look half as terrible as he did when he saw himself in the mirror that morning. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay." Haymitch waved it off with the screenplay and looked around. Everybody was already in their places, discussing something with each other, trying different angles and reviewing their technical storyboards. The set was bounded by black tape, and despite the team doing their best finding the least bustling location and Coin making a deal with the mayor and the police about reserving the place for a few days, there were some people curiously watching them from the passing boats or from the opposite streets.

Then he saw her, she was sitting in her chair with the script open in her lap and a mug of coffee in the throes of her pale fingers with insanely long red-painted nails. "Effie said you were… _sick_ yesterday." Haymitch looked Plutarch in his hard, pale eyes that weren't buying that story for anything.

"Yeah," he humored carefully, "ate something bad."

Plutarch nodded, as if to himself, with a strange look on his permanently worried face. "Are you sure you can do this today?"

"Totally." It didn't sound very convincing, but it was enough for Plutarch who just quickly patted his back, too worried about his shooting schedule with Fulvia Cardew tapping at her expensive watch impatiently.

"Fine," Plutarch said and left him standing there to give orders to the technical team.

Haymitch's eyes met Effie's. When he caught her gaze, her features hardened and she put her stuff on the side table by her chair, got up and walked up to him with an intimidating look on her face.

"Not now," he grunted, already knowing very well what was about to come.

"Yes, _now_ ," she snapped. A few extras have looked in her direction, but she ignored them. "Did you sleep well?"

"Can you turn the volume down, please? My head's gonna fucking explode."

"How about a thank you?"

"How about fucking off?"

"Haymitch, Effie," Plutarch shouted, "you're in Venice, get in the gondola!"

"We're having a talk later," she promised him in a hiss and walked angrily towards the wharf.

He watched her retreat with a growing headache and once more silently cursed her. The events of yesterday were strangely blurry. The last thing he properly remembered was jumping into the water for her… and then nothing except for dreams that were on the border of reality and fantasies that his delirious imagination was producing, and scents that he wasn't familiar with and voices that he kind of sort of knew. It was confusing, but the note he had found beneath a bowl of cold soup on his nightstand both scared him and partly cleared things up.

He thought he wouldn't be able to face anyone this morning, but that was mentioned on the note as well, in Effie's right-tilted, elegant, curly handwriting – that if he's not on the set by eight, showered, ready and with the script perfectly memorized, he was going to "regret it".

The only thing he was currently genuinely regretting was not sending her to hell a little more vigorously when he first faced her in the New York hotel room back then.

He followed her steps, determined to get through with this as quickly as possible, and reluctantly accepted the gondolier's help into the boat, ashamed of the way his fingers were trembling when he held his hand up in front of him. Him and Effie then found themselves in front of each other in the gondola, in a position they didn't get to yesterday, frowning at each other while the technicians were adjusting the mics and cameras. Cressida was already in a boat next to them, and nodded in greetings while struggling with her camera's lighting.

Plutarch walked up to them and crouched down with a conciliatory expression and the onset of an unappreciated pep talk.

"Haymitch, Effie," he started calmly, placing a hand on each's shoulder, "you are two adults. You have both been adults for some time now-"

"He's implying you're old," Haymitch whispered to Effie and guaranteed himself a kick in the shin.

"-so I expect you to be acting like ones," the director finished his sentence in a defeated sigh. "I don't know what it is with everyone here. What have you done to each other except that he had _accidentally_ pushed you off this damn boat?" he frowned at Effie and then looked at Haymitch. "And what is it with Katniss and Peeta?"

"What's with them?" Haymitch furrowed his brows in sudden concern.

"I don't know if they got these mannerisms from you two, but they're refusing to spend time together after shooting," Plutarch complained and made it sound like something equal to a tsunami wave in Kansas or meeting little green people with huge eyes on your midnight journey to the bathroom.

They have been here for two days, so, if Katniss and Peeta weren't exactly friendly, well, Plutarch may have acted like he knew all about teenagers, but he had little sympathy for their motives. They were sixteen, barely knew each other and were forced to spend a lot of time together. No wonder they weren't exactly thrilled to have sleepovers in their hotel rooms and take selfies in front of every historical building in Venice or whatever kids their age did these days.

"They're just tired, Plutarch," he reassured the director.

"I really hope so." Plutarch put his hands on his knees and got up with a pained moan. "My back, okay- everybody knows what to do? Everyone is ready? Cressida?"

The woman with a green tattoo on the left side of her head that embraced her shaved skull like a nest of vipers pouted her dark-purple lips when she looked into the camera. "I don't know. We could use better lightning."

"I'm certainly _not_ putting this off again," Plutarch promised to everyone angrily and shot the two unhappy stars in the gondola one last warning look before rushing to have a look at what her camera was shooting on a small display by his seat. "What do you mean? It's perfectly fine!" he shouted even though nobody would have trouble hearing him from his spot six yards away.

"You are right, we can always work on it in post-production," Cressida rolled her eyes and looked at the other two cameramen, Pollux, who was in a boat behind them, and Castor, who was walking on the shore with a camera on a carriage. "You ready, guys?"

Plutarch waited for their raised thumbs and started briefly discussing something with Fulvia.

"He was right," Effie said silently so the mics above them wouldn't fully catch it, "we are professionals. We need to act as such. So-"

"Second take! _Lights!_ "

"I have no problem with that," Haymitch replied coldly, "you're the one acting like a spoiled little brat."

" _Camera!"_

"I hope you at least bothered to brush your teeth today, you drunk, immature-"

" _Action!_ "

 _ii._

 _34\. VENICE – EXT. / DAY_

 _JACK and LORELAI are sitting opposite each other in a gondola. They are in the middle of a conversation._

 _LORELAI_

 _I never thought we'd be here again someday._

 _JACK_

 _(reaches out to caress her face)_

 _Me too… it's been too long._

 _LORELAI_

 _Do you remember the first time we came here?_

 _JACK_

 _(smiles)_

 _Yeah._

 _LORELAI_

 _(looks at her wedding ring)_

 _I haven't taken it off in nineteen years._

 _JACK_

 _I know it's hard, but… we're here now. We're together._

 _LORELAI_

 _You are right._

 _(looks around)_

 _So, the Bridge of Sighs…_

 _JACK_

 _Really? Again?_

 _LORELAI_

 _(giggles)_

 _Come on._

 _JACK_

 _Who am I, your guide?_

 _LORELAI_

 _My everything._

 _JACK_

 _Aren't we a little too old for this?_

 _LORELAI_

 _We are never too old for this._

 _JACK_

 _(sighs, rolls eyes)_

 _Lori…_

 _LORELAI_

 _Sorry. I just… I still can't believe it._

 _JACK_

 _There's a lot of things we have to talk through._

 _LORELAI_

 _Jack…_

 _JACK_

 _You're married, Lorelai._

 _LORELAI_

 _And ye_ _t, I'm here with you._

 _JACK_

 _And it's wrong._

 _LORELAI_

 _And we're happy. We're fine._

 _JACK_

 _I'm not denying that._

 _LORELAI_

 _So what is your problem? What is your point?_

 _We need to talk things trough. We need to come to an arrangement._

 _I_ do _see a point in this, I think it's worth it. You don't?_

 _JACK_

 _I do. But it feels wrong._

 _LORELAI_

 _I have been waiting for this for nineteen years. I have been_

 _waiting for_ you _for nineteen years. I'm not going to give this_

 _up again just because you think that it feels wrong. Why would_

 _you be here if you thought that it wasn't worth it?_

 _JACK_

 _(hesitates)_

 _Lori…_

 _LORELAI_

 _(waves it off)_

 _Jack, let's just enjoy that we're here again, okay? We're_

 _together. We've got three more weeks ahead of us._

 _Let's not spoil it._

 _(pauses)_

 _Let's just try to enjoy it. We will see._

 _JACK_

 _I wanna be with you. It would just be easier if I knew_

 _that it's real._

 _LORELAI_

 _What makes you think that it isn't?_

 _JACK_

 _Because you're not just mine anymore._

 _LORELAI_

 _(leans in)_

 _I missed you so much._

 _JACK_

 _(cups her cheek, leans in as well)_

 _So did I._

 _LORELAI_

 _(whispers)_

 _Would you feel bad about kissing me, too?_

 _JACK_

 _I really should._

 _Lorelai kisses Jack._

 _JACK (cont.)_

 _But I don't._

 _They start making out._

 _LORELAI_

 _(moves away slightly)_

 _Neither do I._

 _CUT_

 _iii._

" _Stop!_ "

Plutarch's face was lit up with genuine excitement when he rushed to the spot that the gondola has stopped at, and was breathing a little too heavily when he finally got there. He looked on the verge of a heart attack, but also _finally_ content.

"That was _amazing_!" he exclaimed.

Neither Haymitch or Effie managed to answer. They were still sitting uncomfortably close to each other; so close they could still smell each other's scent, so close they could still feel their warmth. She was the one to move away first, the early morning sun playing with the color of her orbs and giving them various tones of blue, and smiled at Plutarch. It was a mindless gesture and he realized he felt a little stuck himself.

"You have _excellent_ chemistry," Plutarch carried on with his praise, looking as if he was about to burst, "I'm proud of you both. I knew you wouldn't disappoint. So, let's have it one more time."

Haymitch noticed the emotions that splashed over Effie's face and couldn't help but take it personally when she railed at that idea. "I don't think that's necessary-"

"Effie," Plutarch cut her off, still in good spirits, but the initial irritation creeping back into his voice, "that is up to _me_ to decide, and I think that we should get one more take."

"Why?" Haymitch gifted Effie with a shady look to which she only reacted by pursing her lips. He could still taste them on his own when he spoke. "I think it was fine, wasn't it, Cressida?"

"It was great," the camerawoman agreed and decently lowered her voice, "but if Plutarch thinks it's for the best to try it again, just go along with it, okay?"

Him and Effie exchanged uncomfortable looks before giving up. "Fine."

"Just one more time," Plutarch promised and hurried back to his chair.

Effie sighed and Haymitch couldn't help the annoyance that was slowly taking over him again. " _Not now_ ," he pointed at the mics over them that were still on.

"You have no idea how much I hate you," she hissed.

"Just fuck it for now, you're the one preaching about having a job to do all the time. Just let me do it," he grunted and ran his fingers across the water's shiny surface. He saw her scowl and couldn't help but chuckle at her expression. "Does that bring back bad memories, huh?" he sprinkled the water at her, which resulted in a high-pitched scream that might give one the impression that he was attempting to drown her.

"You are so… _stupid_ ," she spat desperately while wiping her blouse furiously.

"That's that? _Stupid_? You got nothing better?" he rolled his eyes.

Plutarch's voice stopped their banter once more. "Can you just save this for later? We need to work. Everyone ready? No grudges overshadowing your perfect performances? Awesome! Lights… camera… _action_!"

 _iv._

After the last flap, they got out of the boat, without either of them having an unasked-for bath, and to their great annoyance headed in the same direction – to the chairs to pick up their things and then to the make-up trailer to take it all off them again. They were walking side by side, Haymitch's hands in his pocket, Effie's arms crossed, and they were quiet and in strange sync when they gathered their stuff and ignored the stares of tourists from the opposite bank.

Effie broke the silence first. "Did you read the note?"

"Yeah. Wouldn't have bothered to come otherwise." Effie felt him hesitate when he inhaled with the purpose of adding something else. Not that she was hoping for a proper acknowledgement, because she'd be disappointed, anyway. "You covered up for me. Wouldn't have expected that."

"Someone has to be the bigger person," she informed him haughtily. "I won't lie, it _did_ anger me, and I still think that you're absolutely irresponsible, but I've already seen that you can do your job if pushed enough. Maybe you just need someone to keep pushing."

He let his snigger speak for him, but it disappeared when someone pointed a phone at them and tried to snatch a picture. Effie looked at him curiously – she knew that he hated this kind of attention and that it was making him uncomfortable and anxious even, however, this was just another item form the list of things that were going to make all of this nearly impossible and that everyone had initially brushed off. "Why did you do it?"

"It's none of your business," he cut her off sternly and seemed surprised when she snatched his sleeve, ignoring the fact that someone might get that exact movement on camera or something like that, to stop him from walking out on her, which, as she realized, they have done after every encounter so far, and she had just decided to put a stop to that. "You got scared?"

Haymitch only prolonged his strides. "I don't what I should be _scared_ of."

"Are you drunk right now?"

"I had something." He stopped and hesitated, then decided there was no point in lying after what happened. "It would come back otherwise."

She watched him with increasing unrest. "You need to get help."

He just grunted in refusal. "I don't want help."

"You need to do _something_." She sighed and crossed her arms over her white blouse again, bad feeling creeping upon her when she remembered what he looked like yesterday. "You were supposed to get _sober_ before coming here. You promised."

There was another moment of dither on his part. Effie tried hard to catch his eye, and eventually did – grey eyes that she used to admire on posters twenty years ago and that seemed to be the only part of him that hasn't changed at all, maybe just had more personal tragedies to speak of. It was scary to think about him that way, as though she knew him. She didn't and right now, she was almost sure she didn't want to. "It's hard to do that on your own."

"But you didn't have to do it on your own," she argued, "I'm sure someone would have gladly offered you help."

Haymitch gave her a peculiar look and started walking again. The group of tourists taking pictures of them has gone its own separate way, but he didn't seem any more relaxed. "I don't think so."

"Well, _I_ am offering you help. I don't know why but I simply _refuse_ to give up now. We have no time to get you fully sober, and it would be dangerous without a medical assistance, but-"

"Are you even listening to yourself?"

"Gradual reducing of everyday intake," Effie blurted out, ready to name other possibilities that she didn't even know of.

"Trinket… that's what I've been trying. It doesn't work. It's always either too much or too little." He shook his head again, a gesture he seemed to use every time he wanted to make someone feel inferior, but the joke was on him. It was very hard to make Effie Trinket feel inferior. Even if you were Haymitch Abernathy. "Why am I even talking to you."

"Because Peeta and I have very likely saved your life yesterday," she reminded him bluntly. They have finally reached the make-up trailer and she stopped him in his tracks again.

He turned to her with aggravation engraved in his features. Under the powder and corrector, he must have, for sure, looked completely worn-out. His eyes made it obvious. "It was nothing, it's happened a thousand times before."

"That's sort of sad."

"Thank the boy for me when you see him, though."

He walked up the stairs to the trailer and wrestled with the handle before pushing it open with brute strength. Effie gripped the railing for stability in her high heels and slowly followed him, pouting in expectation.

"And what about _me_?"

"I bet that's your most frequently used phrase, isn't it." He turned to her when she closed the door. They were alone in the trailer, or so it seemed. There were four vanities with make-up removers and cotton facial wipes, one full wall of lockers with make-up that had pictures of each actor on them for the make-up team to know what to use on who, and shelves with wigs with names by them, several pieces of each in various shapes and styles. There were usually bright fluorescent lights on at all times, but now the blinds were drawn and the trailer was dim. "We're squared. I saved you and you helped me."

"You didn't _save_ me-"

"Sure." He walked up to one of the vanities and pulled out the chair for himself. "Are you gonna stare at me?"

"No," she rolled her eyes, manners be damned. She didn't know what it was about him that made him so _annoying_ for her, but he was definitely bringing the worst out of her. He made her want to scream and cry at the same time, but she was slowly realizing that he was doing for the fun of it. He _knew_ that he was annoying her, and kept on purposefully doing it. She came closer and measured him properly. This could be even fun. "Ladies first."

"In your world," he shrugged and attempted to sit down, but then she did something she had _never_ done before, and that she had no idea what kind of reaction it might bring. She pulled the chair away from the trajectory his sitting-down movement, and he landed on the floor with a curse and the look of an utter shock on his face. "What the-"

Effie pouted again, then let a mischievous smile crack her lips. As embarrassing and childish as it was, she felt _good_ about it. "That, my dear," she said, placed one hand on her hip and showed him the door with the other, "is how it works in my world if you don't listen to me."

Haymitch got up clumsily and moved closer to her violently. So close she was afraid he was either going to kiss her or hit her, but she didn't take half a step back nevertheless. In the end, he did neither. He just looked at her like he was seriously considering these two possibilities and then decided that he'd be better off letting her win this time. Or that was what she saw in his eyes.

Without a word, he walked out and smashed the door like a moody teenager getting told he was grounded.

And Effie decided that she hasn't won until they'd be able to end a discussion without one of them running away as if it was the only thing keeping them from killing each other.

Which it most likely was.

 _v._

 _May, Venice_

To put it plainly, Haymitch's life could have been simple. Simple and maybe even peaceful. He could have lived it out the way he had planned. He'd stay in his house, he'd read the same old books he had already read countless times before, he'd open new bottles each day, maybe, one day, he'd open them a little less frequently, and on Chaff's insistence, he might go out from time to time. Otherwise, it would just be quiet and calm.

…and then God said: _let's get Effie Trinket into Haymitch Abernathy's way._

Their mutual relationships didn't even have time to fall beneath the freezing point after the little wet accident, but they didn't dramatically improve after his little drunken escapade, either. They were just as annoyed with each other as before, though it had the aftertaste of debt now.

He was slowly becoming used to her weird quirks. He didn't know it she had always been that way or if it was just due to all the stress she was apparently going through lately, but she was far from stable. She was easily irritable, very defensive, and he often caught her looking around in anxiety or doing some weird breathing exercises. Not that he cared, of course. He never said anything, he didn't ask, partly because he didn't need to hear her whole heartbreaking life story, partly because she wouldn't have told _him_ anyway, just like he wouldn't have told _her_ , but he _did_ notice it despite the limited time they have spent together so far. It didn't exactly worry him, he didn't feel _that_ fond of her, but it did concern him. He wondered if Plutarch knew.

Katniss Everdeen was a strange creature, but at least she wasn't annoying. Her tension with Peeta was palpable. It wasn't nice and he wondered what happened between the two of them that made them so hostile around each other - well, what made _Katniss_ hostile, that was right, because Peeta wasn't hostile _at all_. He was incredibly sweet toward her and she was either blind to every sign of affection or purposefully ignored his attempts at getting closer to her.

Overall, Katniss was difficult to deal with at times. She was stubborn to the point when it wasn't funny anymore and wasn't exactly the friendliest person you could come across. He'd seen her acting and he wondered what she was even doing here. She apparently wondered about that, too. There was no doubt that there was something to her - she wasn't some tremendous talent, but she did have some sort of charisma. It was the vibe she gave off - a small town girl who started acting to make some money for her family and accidentally became famous in the process. It reminded him of himself, and the similarity in their backgrounds was what made them strangely compatible. They spent most of their time together in silence or making snarky remarks on other people's account, and they were totally fine with it.

Peeta was nice. Maybe too nice, but he could stand his ground, too. He could do amazing things even if he was given very little to work with and compensated for Katniss' grouchiness. He told Haymitch that he was planning on moving to New York after the shooting. He also liked baking and once brought some goods on set. And he could draw nicely, too - Haymitch learned that when he saw the quick sketch Peeta made for one scene's layout when Plutarch and Cressida couldn't quite settle on one camera angle.

Johanna and Finnick were old friends who have already starred beside each other in some comedy series and were therefore very close. They were very friendly as well. Well, maybe _friendly_ only applied to Finnick. He was well-mannered, California guy with a cheeky whitened smile and a sense of humor consisting of mocking jabs and gentle sexual innuendos. Johanna's innuendos weren't as gentle; she was quite blunt, actually, liked to curse and seemed to hate Effie which gave her some bonus points in his eyes. She was from the small town of Naches in Washington and she once shared during dinner that she could throw axes and that she did for sport when she was a kid. Nobody accepted her offer to have a contest, but they all agreed with her complaints that there weren't many bars downtown. Her and Finnick went out almost every night.

The remaining cast were extras so far, and the rest of the main cast, like Mags Cohen whom he knew thanks to Plutarch and who he learned was actually Finnick's godmother, or Cashmere Lottway, about whom Peeta told him that was Effie's biggest concurrent for the leading role and her well-known rival in general who only got a supporting character out of Plutarch's indulgence, was supposed to come after Cannes, by the end of May, straight to Florence. Everybody here was obsessed with Cannes. Haymitch didn't understand it – it was the one festival he had never been to and had no desire experiencing. It looked like no fun – just red carpets, flashing cameras, a lot of wealthy people pretending to be movie experts. Nothing for him.

Most of the scenes they were supposed to shoot here were centered around Katniss and Peeta, because Venice was the place of their characters' honeymoon, which gave the others a lot of free time that there was no gripping way to kill.

Haymitch spent his days in his hotel room, reading, occasionally taking a swig from his flask and trying to not give into the urge to go to the nearest shop and buy all the liquor he could get his hands on. He wasn't in withdrawal thanks to the small doses of alcohol he _did_ get into his system daily, though.

And that was another aspect of this all.

True to his nature, Haymitch preferred to stay low-key most of the time and didn't really talk to anyone here. But the trips from his room to the cafeteria or the moments before a rehearsal gave away the fact that his drinking was no secret and people, not from the main cast, but some of the crew and extras didn't even bother to lower their voices or make sure that their staring wasn't embarrassingly obvious. He was on the verge of yelling at them to mind their own business more than once.

Ever since Haymitch talked to Hazelle, neither of them contacted each other. There was no reason to. She was probably just as pissed as she was disappointed, and he had enough of his own problems. He had brief thoughts about visiting Seam before going away, but then second-guessed it and for a good reason. The fact that his face was on every news stand and the groundbreaking fact that _Haymitch_ _Abernathy_ has finally been cracked and went back to acting wasn't contributing to making it a good idea, either.

Coin came on the second day and was, of course, _displeased_ with everything. In her dully grey pant suit and a BlackBerry in her hand at all times, she was wandering around the set with an unreadable expression on her face, occasionally telling someone that they were doing their job wrong, and, if she was in an extra talkative humor, she'd also explain to them _why_ they were doing it wrong. Haymitch was glad that he didn't have to get back to the set for a few days.

Effie was spending a lot of time by the hotel pool – he saw her there every morning going for a swim, then having fruit salad for breakfast and lying with a magazine or a book on the sunbed. She was annoying and dead-set on getting him to dance as she whistles, but at least, from a respectful distance and the safety of his room's balcony where he couldn't hear her complaints and didn't have to listen to her insults, it was nice to get to at least look at her, because she truly was beautiful, if a little too plastic for his taste, and the fact that there was _a lot of_ touching ahead of them wasn't helpful.

And then there was a surprise on the break of April and May, totally unplanned, and kind of concerning.

"Chaff?" Haymitch was just on his way from the cafeteria back to his room when he spotted his friend in the empty lobby with a suitcase by his side, talking to a receptionist. When he heard his voice, he told the receptionist to hold on for a second and walked up to him, throwing his arms around him. "Hey, hey, paws off, what are you doing here-"

"You're an idiot," Chaff told him simply when he pulled back. His round, dark eyes were scanning Haymitch like a lie-detector. "Trinket called me."

"She didn't," Haymitch growled and looked back over his shoulder. She was sitting in the cafeteria with Finnick and Johanna, with whom she was in some heated discussion. Only a few days were enough to learn that she was incredibly argumentative and also had no idea what self-deprecating humor means, therefore there was no way she was ever going to get along with the younger woman. "When-"

Chaff shook his head empathically. "I know everything, and again – you're an _idiot_. I told you not to play with this, to be careful-"

"I _was_ careful," Haymitch hissed, "I just… need to balance it."

"I'm gonna balance you, don't worry," Chaff frowned at him.

"I don't need a babysitter."

"Apparently, you _do_ , and since Trinket has proven herself to be no good at it, I'm here. I'm coming," he raised his voice toward the annoyed receptionist who was still waiting there with a phone in her hand. He looked back at Haymitch and flashed him a smug smile. "That's not the welcome I was expecting, though."

Haymitch's life could have been simple.

But it wasn't meant to be.


	8. Push And Pull

/ While Effie Trinket is Hollywood's darling and all her dreams seem to be finally coming true, Haymitch Abernathy is drinking himself into an early grave and shuts the world out completely. However, Plutarch Heavensbee decides it's time for his comeback. The two main stars can't stand each other and tension builds up soon, but as they dive in deep into this project, somewhere between shooting love scenes, fighting on-set, fighting off-set, opening up hesitantly and helping their younger colleagues deal with everything this world brings, they grow closer and closer, until one day they realize they're not pretending anymore. | Hayffie Actors AU /

 **"PUSH AND PULL"**

 _i._

 _May, Venice_

Having Chaff around usually had surprising perks, but lately, his presence was only making Haymitch even more grumpy, tired and generally annoyed than he usually was.

Firstly of all, Chaff was used to getting up early. Haymitch totally wasn't.

Secondly, Chaff has decided that he was going to whip Haymitch into shape if Effie alone failed. And Haymitch _totally_ wasn't down for that.

But because the first nine days of filming were rather uneventful in general, at least there was finally someone to talk to. Haymitch was slowly realizing that he was kind of starved for an understanding company again.

He was ignoring Effie since the chair incident (when he showed the bruise to Chaff, his friend ordered a bottle of champagne for her room, which she returned to him with an eyeroll the next morning), Peeta and Katniss were busy, Finnick and Johanna were drinking all the time which he felt no need to witness in his permanent semi-drunk, semi-sober, desperately thirsty state, and Plutarch and the rest of the crew were nice, but Haymitch didn't feel any need to spend time with them. The only exception was Cinna, one of the costume designers, who often joined him during dinners and who had at least proven not to be as annoying as the rest.

One morning, Chaff dragged Haymitch for a nine am walk around the town. It was one of the colder days, without much sunshine, and it actually looked like it was going to rain – again, weather usually had zero effects on Haymitch's mood, which was shitty whether it was falling wheelbarrows or whether he was being slowly fried in his own sweat, but walking around windy, sleepy Venice in a winter jacket with Chaff who was purposefully stopping on every stone bridge and was non-stop reading out loud from a handy tourist guide just to annoy his friend was _definitely_ going to take place on the top of Haymitch's list of things he never wanted to experience in life.

They visited the Doge's Palace, the San Marco Campanile, countless museums and galleries and when they finally found a spot to have a lunch at, Coin was already ringing Chaff to come back to the set, which left Haymitch with room service and the unwanted bottle of champagne, which has turned out to be actually pretty disgusting, so Haymitch didn't know if Chaff meant it to be a _thank you_ or a _fuck you_ for Effie for bruising his ass.

Eventually, a warm day, fully spring day came, with various smells in the salty air, most notably chlorine from the pool and the scents of continental breakfast ahead of Haymitch and Chaff who were sitting by an opened French window in the cafeteria and were silently struggling with their pancakes and cold, overly creamy coffee. Haymitch's attention was caught by the opening of the glass door leading to the pool area and he quickly looked at his watch. Exactly eight fifteen as always. That woman was _insane_.

It was Effie, in a white beach dress, with hair up in an elegant ponytail and heels unreasonably high for merely hanging by the pool, she walked up to her usual spot by the flower bushes, carefully placed her designer handbag on the sunbed and reached for the hem of the dress, then pulled it over her head and no less carefully folded it next to the handbag. Next thing, she kicked off her shoes and headed to the pool where she first dipped her toes into the water and then slowly lowered herself there.

She was doing everything with grace, but it was also irritating him for some reason. As if she felt the need to prove everyone how much better than them she was, twenty-four seven, even if she thought that no one was watching – which she couldn't have thought, because except for Haymitch and Chaff, there were also Finnick, Johanna, Cinna, Portia, Castor and Cressida in the cafeteria, and they all had to stare, if unwillingly.

"It's not a bad life," Chaff remarked when he looked in the direction of Haymitch's steady gaze. " _I_ wouldn't complain if I had this view every day."

"She's awful," Haymitch grunted, but didn't take his eyes off her.

"Why are you stripping her with your eyes then?"

"I'm not."

"Tell that to someone who doesn't know you," Chaff dismissed it with clear amusement. "You like her."

Haymitch snorted. _Like her_. Sure. In what universe? Since the moment he came here, she was his nightmare. He has discovered a phobia of his – getting stuck with her in an elevator. Sharing the same hotel floor was bad enough. Yeah, she was hot, he'd give her that, who wouldn't, but _hot_ was no longer a deciding factor when it came to _liking_ someone.

"I see our little drama queen is giving you horny guys a show." Johanna slumped down to their table without a warning and Finnick closely followed. He at least didn't stare so openly, but it was obvious that he wanted to have a look, too.

"Can you all just stop staring at her?" Haymitch suddenly lashed out. It was beyond him why it was annoying him so much. He was doing the exact same thing. It wasn't even about protecting her dignity, or whatever. She wanted that kind of attention, even if she was a horrible prude on the outside. He just didn't like how _everyone_ seemed to not have a better thing to do than to ogle at her as if they have never seen a woman before in their life.

Chaff raised his brows and turned to the newcomers. "We were just talking about how Haymitch has developed a crush on Trinket."

"No shit," Johanna laughed, apparently in her element. "I mean, _I_ 'd go with her too, if she wasn't so annoying."

"Also, I've never heard of a man who could withstand Effie Trinket's personal charm," Finnick chipped in. "I myself have gone into acting just for the hope that I might get to play her lover someday. Well, I'm playing her son, but it's still a progress. Maybe someday. You lucky bastard."

"Shut up," Haymitch took a sip of his coffee, but the three people around him were apparently having way too much fun.

"That's nothing to be ashamed of," Finnick continued, "it's perfectly normal, actually."

"You're staring, too!" Johanna pointed out bluntly and took a piece of his bread without asking, then dipped it into his creamy coffee and bit into it.

"It's too cold for that," Haymitch explained, jerked his head towards the pool and then brushed off the crumbs from the bread into Johanna's lap.

She brushed them on the ground like a child. "No, it's not. I'd have a swim, too."

"You like her," Chaff insisted.

Haymitch rolled his eyes and stood up, pushing the chair away in the process. "You're like little kids."

"No wait, sorry," Finnick laughed and waved it off. "Hey, have you two got any plans for today?"

"I don't know," Haymitch shrugged.

"Nevermind," Johanna waved it off with the soaked bread, "we're finishing here tomorrow and me and Finnick and Cres thought that we could have a little wrap party. I mean, we've been here for some time and we haven't gone anywhere together, so now's an opportunity."

"You're going out with us," Finnick translated it to the two men.

"No, thank you."

Johanna rolled her eyes and lent back against the chair violently. She was prone to violent moves in general, as if there was always too much energy for her body to contain. "C'mon, you're no fun."

"I can live with that," Haymitch replied dryly.

Chaff caught up pretty fast, though. "It _could_ be fun," he elbowed his friend with an important look.

"Everyone's going," Finnick insisted.

"What do you mean by _everyone_?" Haymitch asked cautiously.

"Well, everyone. Us, Effie, Katniss, Peeta, I think, if he's not already in France, the crew…"

"No, thank you."

"Come on," Johanna wined, stretching the _ooooon_ as annoyingly as possible, "it's end of one part. Plus, Plutarch insists on us doing something as a group for bonding purposes or some shit. I promised to him I'd get you to join us once a while. If you come now, you're done."

Haymitch couldn't believe his ears. He didn't know what has gotten into everyone. Normally, when people saw that he wasn't interested and didn't even bother to hide it, their own interest dropped quickly, but everybody here was so _persistent_. Had he wanted to socialize, he _would_ have. "So you promised Plutarch, huh? I don't have to listen to him once the camera's off, so-"

Johanna heavily swallowed the rest of the bread and interrupted him again. "I'll make sure you get a drink or two, and if Trinket opens her mouth, I'll gladly kick her boney ass out the door, but don't make me listen to all that _you need better relationships if you want good results_ bullshit. It's like kindergarten all over again."

"When exactly?" Chaff asked and ignored Haymitch's dirty look.

"Tomorrow at seven. We'll tell you the place once we find something proper."

"Fine, we'll be there," Chaff said and blocked Haymitch's vicious under-the-table kick.

Johanna snapped her fingers and nudged Finnick to get up. She pushed the chair a solid meter away at the intensity of her movement. "Cool. See you."

"And you like her," Finnick lent to Haymitch and ran away before he could earn himself a punch.

Chaff waited until the two were out of earshot and took a nonchalant sip from his coffee. "So?"

"What?" Haymitch snapped, royally aggravated this early in the morning.

"Do you?"

Chaff's laughter followed him out of the cafeteria when his nerves finally cracked and got up just as vigorously as Johanna, then marched out with knuckles white on his fists when his eyes wandered back to Effie who was climbing up the pool's steps with her now loose, soaked hair combed back and wet white bikini clinging to her in all the right places.

 _Like her_.

 _Sure._

 _ii._

Katniss didn't notice that there was someone else with her in the internet café until that someone had put something down on the desk and she felt their presence immediately behind her. "Happy birthday."

She hastily closed the tab and looker over her shoulder in startle. Her eyes met a pastel blue pair. "Peeta."

"Sorry," he laughed, pulled out a chair for himself and sat down next to her. The air was immediately full of the scent of cinnamon. He always smelled like Christmas – either cinnamon, or apples, or oranges, or vanilla. It was his hands that smelled that way and she could never figure out why. "It _is_ your birthday, isn't it? The 8th of May?"

"Yeah," she said awkwardly. "I just kinda hoped no one would know."

"Really?" Peeta's face fell. "Oh well… hope you're okay with this."

"It's fine." Katniss looked down on what Peeta had gotten her. "What is it?"

"Have a look."

She only hesitated for a second, then picked it up. It was a folder with something light in it. In the folder, there was a sketch between two pieces of blank paper. It took her a while to understand what it really was when she looked at it. Then her heart dropped. It was her.

It was a portrait of her, a portrait of her she had never posed for and one that certainly wasn't based on a picture she had ever posed for, either. It wasn't colored, but it was amazingly well-shaded, and almost photorealistic. n the picture, she was sitting on a bench in what looked like a rose garden, wearing a flower crown, her lose braid falling down her shoulder like an ebony waterfall. Her eyes were sparkly, she was laughing, and the real-life Katniss was amazed at how well he could grasp her features. He must have studied her pictures for a long time. It made the blood rush into her pale cheeks.

Katniss wasn't used to be much of a center of attention. Back home, in the small town of Seam with its deep, fresh-smelling forests, huge meadows and permanently polluted air thanks to the nearby mines, she had never been considered interesting, just different, not necessarily in the positive sense of the word.

The media made it seem like she sat alone at the lunch table because other kids were afraid of her unique charm. Because she intimidated them with being so courageous, self-reliant, _interesting_. In reality, she was sitting there alone because instead of going home after school to do her homework and then hanging out at some café with her classmates, she went to the Hub to help Hazelle and wash dishes, hand out sandwiches and scrub the toilets, and the next day, she'd be sleeping on her desk during breaks at school instead of socializing. During the weekend, she'd do the cleaning and cooking for the next week. By the age of fourteen, she was basically taking on a parent's role – picking up Prim from school, bringing home some humble money, managing the household and still taking on her own responsibilities.

Her basically only friends were Gale and Madge. Gale was Hazelle Hawthorne's oldest son whom she met at the Hub when she was eleven, just a few weeks after her father died during a mining accident, but she had seen him before – at her father's funeral. She saw Haymitch Abernathy there as well, drunk as always, only staying there for so long as necessary, then immediately sneaking out before her mother even had the chance to talk to him.

Nobody welcomed him there with open arms; he had been gone for too long and things have changed too much. Or at least as much as possible in a small southern town in the heart of the Appalachians. She didn't even know that he was his father's friend until Hazelle told her. He had never come to visit, at least since she could remember, he had never done _anything_. He just left and never looked back. Traded the gold leaf of Hollywood for his roots while people there were daily struggling to get by. Like Katniss's father, or Hazelle, or anyone else.

Gale was a good friend to her, a safe haven. They were close like siblings and cared for each other's families as if they were their own. Madge Undersee was a good friend to her as well. She was the daughter of the local Mayor and lived in the nicer part of the down, closer to the center, in a huge house with a separate dining room with an old piano, many original paintings hanging in the halls and a pool in the garden. They used to sit together during lunch and sometimes went out together, but Katniss wasn't really into Madge's hobbies such as shopping or yoga or new music.

No, she definitely wasn't spending so much time on her own because she was intimidating someone with being so awesome in every way. She was sitting there alone because she _liked_ sitting there alone, and did everything to maintain it that way. Nobody had to knew how bad her situation was. She didn't want the compassion. She didn't want the sympathetic stares. She didn't want the awkward offers of help. She just wanted to be left alone.

But in the world of the silver screen – a world that she was thrown into thanks to one test screening where her drama teacher sent her to along with a few other girls out of pure pity – never asked her whether she preferred to be alone, because she was _never_ alone. When she wasn't with her publicist, she was with her manager, or with the cast, or with a make-up artist, or with a journalist, or with random fans, or-

No, there was no _alone._

In Venice, she was forced to spend time with people that she felt like she had nothing much to say to. The adults treated her as if she was a little kid, especially Effie, who, for whatever reason, felt the urge to always ask her not to speak with her mouth full or to adjust the collar of her shirt.

Haymitch was the opposite pole – he didn't want to spend much time with anyone. He was with Chaff a lot and Johanna has proved to be a solid match to him when it came to being an asshole. At first, Katniss didn't even want to talk to him. But once, during a lunch break, they found themselves sitting next to each other. Katniss still sort of despised him, especially since his drunken episode which has left her and Peeta for Effie to take her neuroticism out on, but the two shared, except for the same eyes and the same roots, the unique gift of love for silence. Their silence somehow wasn't awkward – it was strangely comfortable. Her father cared for him a lot and that was enough for her to try to at least tolerate him, even if the personal feeling of betrayal lingered on and probably still would for some time ahead.

Peeta was nice and he was trying, but he didn't know the extent to which it was really nice and the point when it became annoying. Whenever he could, he'd pull out her chair, take her things, help her into her jacket. He took her out for a walk around the town, bought her ice cream and now drew a portrait of her.

She had little to no experience in this, but she wasn't an idiot. She knew what was going on, ever since they first met six months ago in New York when Plutarch was introducing the cast and he had spent so much _unhealthy_ time looking at her when he thought that she wasn't paying attention. And, due to her zero experience, the only way she knew how to let him know that she wasn't really feeling the same way was withdrawing and shutting him out completely.

"This is…" she cleared her throat when she realized that she was just quietly staring at it for too long and he was watching her with palpable anxiety, "this is amazing. Beautiful. God. You're talented. Really."

Peeta laughed lightly. It was the delicate laugh of relief of someone who didn't want to ruin a fragile peace or trample a rare nice moment. It stung to be a person someone else thought was rare to have nice moments with. "You're welcome."

She looked up. Their eyes met again and though she didn't see him move, he was suddenly closer than before. Or maybe she just imagined it because there was an unspoked question in the air. There was something else. She followed his eyes back down to the folder. There was another piece of paper. Smaller and thinner, luxurious-looking, with the huge letters _2017 CANNES FILM FESTIVAL_ on it. It wasn't the formal invitation one usually got from the organizers, it was a VIP ticket to a movie screening. Peeta's movie. She understood it before he asked.

"Would you come?"

And there it was.

She couldn't decline him. She wanted to, really. She had no desire to go to Cannes with him, or to go anywhere with him for that matter, because he was bound to consider it more than it was, an invitation to step forward. But when she watched him, his ears red, the way his fingers shook, eyes insecure and kind, she just said yes. His face lit up and he thanked her, said that it was awesome, and kept smiling through the entire day. Later, during the shooting of a scene in a gallery, he kissed her on her cheek, all out of a sudden, and Plutarch was thrilled about this _sweet little improvisation_. Well, at least _someone_ was.

With the feeling of someone sentenced to guillotine, she mailed the news to her manager and publicist, who both considered it a great move, and then decided to call home.

"Hi," she heard Prim's soft voice on the other side.

"Hi, little duck," Katniss smiled in relief. Finally, at least something familiar - finally something that made her feel normal. "Why are you picking up? Where's mum?"

"Mum is at work," her sister said hastily. Katniss immediately knew that it wasn't the case.

"Is everything okay back there?" she asked anxiously, playing with the scratched plaster on her balcony. Her eyes wandered around the complex; it was the usual view - Effie Trinket was sitting by the pool, also speaking on the phone, gesturing toward Finnick and Johanna, who were rather loudly playing Marco Polo in the pool, to shut up. Fulvia Cardew was sitting in the pool bar, tapping something into her laptop.

"Of course," Prim humored jauntily. "I got an A in Natural History today. Gale came over and brought us something from the Hub. He's starting in the mines next week."

Katniss let out an annoyed grunt. "I totally forgot about it. I should call him."

"Are _you_ okay?" Katniss could see Prim furrowing her brows in concern, big blue eyes hard to deceive. She was thirteen but she wasn't an idiot and Katniss was never one to treat her as such. "Has something happened?"

Katniss considered brushing it off, but in that moment, she saw Peeta walk over to Effie, sit down and start sketching something, so she told Prim everything. When she finished, the younger girl remained silent for a while, and then she just said: "Why did you say _yes_ if you wanted to say _no_?"

Thirteen-year-olds were prone to letting a lot of dumb things out of their mouths - but they were also prone to see everything simply. Prim was in that transition phase when she wasn't a child anymore, but she wasn't a teenager yet, either. However, she had always been the one who saw things clearly and realistically while remaining so optimistic about it. And she was, unlike other thirteen-year-olds, prone to always asking the right questions at the right time.

"I don't know," Katniss admitted. "Say hi to mum."

Now, her eyes were rested at the suitcase provocatively lying on her bed, half-empty, with only the few basics there. She didn't even have a dress. Cinna promised to get her one, and Peeta's stylist would do her hair and make-up, but still, it was all so out-of-the blue, she didn't feel ready. She had nothing prepared and she didn't feel like going out there, posing for cameras next to Peeta who was too excited for her to tell him she had changed her mind.

People do a lot of things they don't want to do and they need to cope with the consequences. That was apparently how adult life was and she had no chance but to accept the fact that she was an adult now without ever actually having the chance to be a proper teenager. It didn't have to be that bad, after all. At least she'd see the sea. Prim had always wanted to go there. At least she could get her some pictures.

 _iii._

" _Stop!_ "

"What's your problem again?" Haymitch lashed out, not towards Plutarch, who was sitting in his chair by Cressida's camera, but Effie, who was lying beneath him in a tight red cocktail dress with smudged lipstick and furrowed brows.

"Nothing, just…" she pushed him away while she was sitting up, "you're doing it wrong."

" _Wrong_?" His brows shot up. "That's about a first when it comes to someone telling me that I'm doing it wrong here," he patted the mattress tellingly and she rolled her eyes, pulling up her shoulder strap.

Plutarch sighed and waved at them with the screenplay. "Did you even read this? It says _passionately_. Not _I'm not in the mood to do my job today, so I'll just give an average performance and hope Alma Coin still pays me_."

"I'm not getting paid, anyway," Haymitch shrugged and reached for his tuxedo jacket that had been carelessly left somewhere on the floor previously. Previous four times, actually.

"We're not getting anywhere like this," Cressida told Plutarch and didn't even bother to make it discreet. Not that she'd manage that, anyway, because the room that they were shooting in was quite small and except for the two desperate main stars, Plutarch and Cressida, there was also Pollux, who was doing the close-ups, Chaff, who was leaning against the desk and watching the whole scene with undisguised amusement, and three assistants.

Not that Haymitch used to have a problem with it, but he had many, many years to wean it, and the thought of seven people including his best friend watching him pretend to fuck Effie Trinket wasn't exactly… appealing. He was horrified when he first read it in the script, he was horrified when they talked about it during the rehearsals and he was horrified now that he realized that she wasn't going to make it any easier for him.

"Is there going to be a day when there's not a problem with you two?" Plutarch shook his head and got off his chair, then waved with both hands towards the door. "Alright, everyone get out, I want just Haymitch and Effie to stay here."

"And what are we supposed to do here?" Effie crossed her arms and then released them again to adjust her wig.

"Talk about this. I'm a director, not your babysitter," Plutarch told her sternly and opened the door to the hall of the hotel where they had rented an entire floor to film the last take of the Venice shooting, which was supposed to be a romantic, passionate love scene but so far was only a mess that was eating up their time and money without satisfying results. "If you two have a problem, then it's you two who has to do something about it. I didn't care but it's ruining this filming and I'm tired of it. When you're done, come for us. We're next door."

With that, the room slowly began to empty. Neither Haymitch or Effie missed the disagreeing scowl that Chaff shot them before leaving.

"This is your fault," she hissed at Haymitch when the door closed behind her assistant and they were left there alone, face to face. "You're just not doing it right."

"How _exactly_ am I not doing it right?" he retorted. "Never thought about the possibility that maybe _you_ 're the problem here? Like, when was your last lay?"

" _Certainly_ more recently than yours," she fired back, and her expression made it clear that she herself had no idea why she was even responding to him and letting him irk her like this.

"So tell me what you'd like," he was near shouting now. She stood up and he followed, so now they were standing in front of each other with faces reddening with anger that they had this unique superpower of arousing in each other without much effort.

Effie curled her hands into fists and propped them against her hips, a gesture that, he noticed, she was often using when mad or during a fit of self-righteousness. "Do you know what I'd like? Some respect, maybe. You can't just grab someone and throw them on the bed like that."

"I'm sure that's exactly what you'd use from time to time," Haymitch spat.

"Well, if you start it like that, then _finish_ it like that," she continued, her voice soaked with mockery, "or are you always running out of battery in the middle of the act?"

"I'm not the only one here. Maybe you're frigid."

"You'd be surprised."

He wasn't really thinking when he did it, but suddenly, her back was against the wall and their faces mere inches from each other's. They weren't touching, but they could feel each other's breath on their faces; they could feel the tension of the other one's body. He was breathing in her flowery scent and the warmth of her skin and he promptly snapped back to reality in which this was a stupid idea. He really hadn't been with anyone like this in a long time.

He'd lie if he said that he hadn't thought about kissing her right there.

"That's what _you_ 'd like?" she asked sharply with a pout on her mouth. Her feisty eyes fell on his lips for a split of a second before going up again and locking with his. That was when Chaff's words popped up in his mind. It was like a kick in the stomach.

"You wish," he grunted and moved away. It didn't escape him that she let out a shaky breath as if she had been holding it the entire time.

They stood in front of each other, in a respectable distance now, with hardly much to say. There were things they couldn't sort out in this very moment, like the fact that they were never going to get along and that he had weird and dirty things running through his mind when he saw the red spots appearing on her neck and half-exposed chest in embarrassment. They could do their job, though.

"So…" Effie ran her fingers through her wig, "what are we gonna tell them?"

Haymitch didn't answer her, he just headed straight to the door and violently opened it. He didn't want to admit to himself that what just happened made him a little bothered. "We're ready." The crew standing awkwardly in the hall looked up with careful hope in their faces. Haymitch looked at Plutarch who skeptically raised his eyes from the technical notes he was going through with Cressida. "We decided we don't want anyone here. Just you, Cressida and Pollux."

Plutarch nodded slowly. "As you wish."

Once they all found themselves in the closed room again, they got in their places – Plutarch into his director chair that he had brought here for ostentatious purposes, even if any chair they had in this room would serve just as well, Cressida got behind her steady cam and Pollux lifted his heavy camera and carefully placed it on his shoulder, ready to circle the main couple in well-trained motion in order to get the best shots.

"Are you ready?" Plutarch asked, specifically talking to Haymitch and Effie, who were standing in front of the door, already locked up in a tight embrace, the hair of her wig tickling Haymitch's nose. It wasn't until now that he realized how petite she was in his arms.

"Yeah."

"So… ligh- oh yeah, to hell with you two." He got off the chair to turn on the artificial lights himself, then hurried back, "cameras, _action!_ "

It was a good thing that there was no dialogue in this scene, because they wouldn't get very far with talking. The second Plutarch said _action_ , Haymitch pulled her towards him, just like he did those four times before, and didn't bother to make it any gentler despite their previous talk. Effie didn't seem to have a problem with it this time, though, because it was her who kissed him first.

He pushed her towards the bed and when her knees made contact with the edge of it, she pulled him down with her while helping him out of his jacket. The second it was, once more, forgotten on the floor, his hands wandered under her dress, up the tender skin of her thighs where they stopped. Meanwhile, she was unbuttoning his shirt vigorously and biting on his earlobe. Her hot breath and the undying flood of soft sighs sent chills down his spine.

His fingers reached for the hem of her dress and pulled it up. He had totally forgotten that there was someone else with them when he took her dress off and they moved further on the bed, throwing away his shirt. She giggled lightly when she struggled with his belt and pulled him down for a deep kiss.

She was, without a doubt, a _good_ kisser.

Her fingers were running through his hair freely while his were tugging at the wig and the natural hair beneath it. He didn't see her breasts, however, he _felt_ them rubbing against his own bare chest and once more wanted to repeatedly bang his head at something at the ridicule of this all. Filmmaking was a fucked up concept in general, but situations like these always took it to a whole new level.

Then she pulled him for a kiss again, and he didn't know whether it was her moans, her soft touch, her sweet warmth or a few years without an affair or at least a one night stand, but he suddenly felt himself… _reacting_.

He looked her in the eye and he knew she noticed it too. At first, he expected her to push him off her again and to have to start all over, but she didn't do anything to let anyone know what was going on. She just ran her nails across his back and his lips moved to her neck. Her skin was soft there, and tasted bitter after her perfume and lotion. Then she pulled his face back closer to her face and they started kissing again – in a way that definitely could pass for _passionate_ this time.

The more they were rubbing together, the worse it got. Not that having her under him like this was a horrible experience, but he found himself desperately waiting for Plutarch to yell _stop_ nevertheless. He was becoming a little impatient, because when his and Effie's eyes met before she closed them and let him lead, he could tell for sure that she was teasing him even more on purpose.

" _Stop!_ "

The second he heard that magical word, Haymitch rolled off her as if she had burned him and Effie quickly covered herself with the sheet. Plutarch and Cressida whispered something to each other and the director walked up to the bed with a smile on his face. He handed the dress to Effie and the shirt to Haymitch.

"Good job, you two," he said indulgently, "how are you feeling?"

Haymitch didn't want to get up in fear that someone might notice his little _problem_ , so he just sat on the edge of the bed and shot Effie a look. She seemed to feel just as uncomfortable. "Fine," she said, nevertheless.

"Okay," Plutarch quickly caressed her arm and headed for the door. "We'll give you some space and send you your assistants. Take a little break, then we'll shoot the next sequence and we're done here!"

With that he nearly waltzed out of the room. Plutarch was notorious for being hard to please but once he _was_ pleased, he could be grateful.

That didn't matter to Haymitch. His face was ablaze, his insides tight with humiliation and anger. He was _shaking._ "You're a bitch."

"We are actually quite compatible between the sheets," she replied indifferently with a shrug just as her assistant walked in with a water bottle and a robe. "Thank you, dear!"

She got up to go to the next room that was reserved for her when she heard his coarse voice shouting after her. "Do you feel better?"

She stopped in the door frame, gifting him with a flutter of her long, velvety fake lashes. There was something in her newly smug face that was making a clear statement. _I won this time,_ sweetheart _._ However, her response came in a voice so innocent, it couldn't be further from the throaty moans that were still echoing in his brain and torturing him even further. "But why should I?"

* * *

 _Heeeeeey everyone! So, a new chapter is here, finally! I keep getting nice messages/reviews despite taking so long to update, which is nice. Thank you everyone for motivating me to sit the hell down and finally finish the drafts that have been in my 'writing' folder for way too long. Considering the long wait, and also that the next chapter is on the shorter side (for my norm), I'm going to post both 7 and 8 this weekend, and you can count on an update next week. Also, there have been slight cosmetical adjustments to the previous chapters, but it's all just about the style of posting. Thanks for reading and have a nice day x_


	9. Deal Breaker

/ While Effie Trinket is Hollywood's darling and all her dreams seem to be finally coming true, Haymitch Abernathy is drinking himself into an early grave and shuts the world out completely. However, Plutarch Heavensbee decides it's time for his comeback. The two main stars can't stand each other and tension builds up soon, but as they dive in deep into this project, somewhere between shooting love scenes, fighting on-set, fighting off-set, opening up hesitantly and helping their younger colleagues deal with everything this world brings, they grow closer and closer, until one day they realize they're not pretending anymore. | Hayffie Actors AU /

 ** _"DEAL BREAKER"_**

 _i._

 _May, Venice_

Everyone has agreed that they should leave the choice of the place where the wrap party would take place to Finnick, Johanna and Cressida and her crew, who spent quite a lot of their free time exploring the town. Johanna called it boring. Finnick often joked that it was sad that Annie Cresta, his girlfriend, couldn't be here as well since she liked these cliché-ish, romantic locations, but from the longing in his eyes, it was easy to tell that he truly wished she could be here with him.

Eventually, they decided upon a small bar in a hidden corner of the city, in the old part. It looked sapless and frankly a bit disreputable, but once they got in, they found themselves surrounded by hyper-modern furniture and decorations, everything clean and neat and new. Plutarch had previously reserved it for the evening, so they were there alone. It wasn't entirely clear whether Coin knew what her money was going into.

Effie looked around. The whole Venice cast, except dor Katniss and Peeta, was here. There was also majority of the crew - Cressida, Castor, Pollux; the assistants, the consultants, and Portia who was sitting on Cinna's lap which was who Effie was headed to.

Katniss and Peeta left for France last night. It didn't go without a lot of complaining from both Fulvia Cardew and Alma Coin, for organization purposes, but Plutarch promised them that it was a good move. Publicity was needed. Besides, he was just glad that these two were finally getting along, if _someone_ still couldn't bring themselves to be decent.

Effie was sure her and Haymitch could be decent but it was difficult to look at each other now, considering how their shooting went this morning. It was totally unacceptable. It has _never_ happened to her before with anyone. She didn't know what to think - probably that her last lay truly was more recent than his.

She saw him in the corner of her eye. He was sitting alone in one of the boxes, sipping whiskey. There was no other glass on his table. She felt a faint sting of pride. Or maybe relief. He was finally getting at least a little better in these matters.

"Effie," Finnick appeared next to her with two glasses of champagne and handed one to her. "Plutarch's having a speech."

Of course. Plutarch liked everything in big style. All one needed to do was to take a look at his filmography. He was the master of melodrama, glamour, and romanticized angst.

"I didn't even have time to see the town properly," Effie told Finnick sadly, "it's like this every time. I can't remember one time when I travelled just for pleasure."

"Do you have any projects following this?" Finnick asked. He was so good to talk to, these two kicked it off well immediately upon meeting for the first time. He was hilarious but polite and had the unique gift of making you feel like you were the only person he was focusing on the moment he started talking to you.

"No," she replied with relief. "I'm taking a year off. I need it."

Finnick nodded, looking at her curiously. He had the decency not to ask why, presumably because he already knew. "That sounds smart. There's a lot going on."

"It's good not having to be at home," she admitted, lowering her voice so only Finnick would hear. "Everybody is so nice here and almost no one seems to recognize me. I can't believe there were times when that used to anger me."

He laughed quietly. "Not _everyone_ is that nice."

Effie's eyes immediately found Haymitch again and then wandered back to Finnick. For a second, she was afraid that he somehow knew about what happened today, and his joking didn't help.

"He likes you, you know."

"What?" That wasn't quiet at all. Actually, it came out rather _loudly_. A few people including Castor and Fulvia looked in her direction with raised brows. "Why do you think so? Did he tell you what happened or-"

"Wait," Finnick hesitated in his fit of laughter at her horrified face, "tell me what?"

She could feel her cheeks catching fire. Was he just messing with her or- "Oh. Nothing."

He was chuckling again, sea green eyes twinkling in amusement. "You _do_ know I was just kidding, right? Jo keeps saying that to annoy him. It's good to know _something_ happened, though."

"Finnick," Effie sighed and curled the free hand into a fist and rested in on her hip, " _nothing_ happened. Forget about it."

"Forget about what?" Finnick innocently winked at her and floated through the crowd to honor someone else with his impish presence.

Effie rolled her eyes before resting them back on Haymitch. To her surprise and, frankly, a bit of a scare, he was already looking at her. When he didn't look away after catching her glaze, she hesitated only for a second before asking a kissing couple - so inappropriate - to make space for her, and headed to him.

"May I?" she asked only symbolically, because she was already sitting down next to him. It didn't escape her that he had some kind of cologne on. It smelled weird but it was better than the usual combo sweaty clothes/hotel soap/whiskey breath.

He shrugged. His already broad shoulders seemed bigger in his leather jacket that still didn't fit him well, maybe even worse now that he had suddenly lost some weight. Reducing drinking, some routine and actual activity every day were supposed to have a positive effect on him, but the bags under his eyes gave away his exhaustion. His hands weren't shaking, though. She had no idea why she was still checking up on him like this, but maybe because she felt responsible for his current state.

It wasn't the only thing she was responsible for and it made her blush again. She wanted to say something to relieve the atmosphere, just as Plutarch, with Chaff's help, climbed on one of the benches and someone stopped the music that was quietly playing from the speakers. He clinked on his glass of champagne with a butter knife - as though he hadn't already won everyone's attention - and cleared his throat before starting. "Welcome, everybody! I'm glad we all managed to meet up here, except for our generous, extraordinarily gifted main producer, Alma Coin, to whom-"

Next to Effie, Haymitch chuckled quietly.

"What's so funny?" she whispered in annoyance, already losing track on Plutarch's speech.

"That guy's a fucking ass alpinist," he replied, shaking his head and exing his whiskey. "I always knew he was a bit spineless, but-"

"How _dare_ you," she stared at him with her mouth open and he glanced back at her unapologetically. "Do you not know what gratitude means?"

"I know what _dignity_ means," he retorted.

She promptly fired back. " _You_ 're the one to be talking about _dignity_ , really. There's hardly anything more dignifying than being found wasted in a pool of your own vomit every day of your adult life, if not since much sooner than that."

Someone looked over their shoulder at them, clearly implying that they were disturbing them. Effie lent back against the box's padding and shook her head in disbelief. The audacity of this man never stopped surprising her, she should have gotten used to it by now, but he always pushed it to another level.

"We were all working hard, especially our four main stars," Plutarch continued. "Two of them are absent, but we're about to see them during the Cannes' opening red carpet in a few minutes, and two of them are here." Everyone's eyes turned to Effie and Haymitch, as though someone's pointed a headlight at them. He wriggled uncomfortably next to her, but she promptly conjured up a smile and raised her glass while not-so-gently kicking Haymitch under the table. "It took us some time and some compromise, but I think we finally found a way to make this work. Great job, you two, I'm proud of you!"

Everyone clapped then, but Plutarch wasn't done yet. As his audience slowly focused their attention on him again, Effie burned Haymitch with a glare. "I suppose not even someone's praise is enough to make you feel guilty, or is it?"

" _Guilty_ ," he spat, "what the _hell_? I'm just saying my humble opinion. Dare I add that I've already shared that opinion with him _countless_ times before. I get it. He needs her money."

"That's cynical."

"This business is cynical in general. Don't you know?"

It stang. His words were harsh but there was a spike of truth in each of them, and they usually hit close to home. Still. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

He shrugged again. "It's worse for women than guys, but I've got my fair share of stories fucked up enough to make you doubt everything you've believed in about this job."

"Deep," she remarked sarcastically, slowly preparing to ignore him.

"You're what, thirty-five? I give you three more years."

"Go to _hell_ ," she burst out in a voice that was stepping above the borders of whisper. "Just because _you_ ended up a complete wreck doesn't mean it's inevitably going to happen to everyone. There are people with self-respect and actual talent, people who don't need their image to sell them."

"Funny that it comes from someone who had to pose almost naked for three years before landing a role."

"Are you going to bring this up? Really?" She felt her pulse suddenly accelerating. "You didn't mind this morning."

His face tensed just as Plutarch was finally finishing his speech.

"So, a big thank you belongs to all of you. May we all keep up the good work in Florence!"

Everyone clapped and then turned in the contents of their glasses. Effie just sipped on her champagne and didn't dare to look at Haymitch after what had just left her lips, but she felt it when his eyes brushed past her and then stopped on her face for a moment. She wanted to say something, but she just laughed instead. He joined her after the initial hesitation. It wasn't a happy or mocking laughter, it was just laughter which had been rare in both of their lives lately, so they just went along with it.

When he laughed, he had wrinkles on his forehead, but these were worry lines instead of those wrinkles you get with aging from laughing or making faces. He wasn't a happy person, supposedly not with many reasons to be happy, but right now, he looked relaxed. For the very first time in those ten days they had been here, she saw him, if not having fun, then at least having somewhat of a nice time. Presumably because it meant that he was ten days closer to the end of everything, but it somehow didn't matter.

"You're..." he shook his head and let his words trail of.

"I'm sorry," she giggled, "but seriously, I think we should just can this already."

For the third time, he simply shrugged.

"So, friends?" she offered her hand.

"Not sure if friends," he ignored her gesture, but shot her a smirk nevertheless, "but allies could do."

"Allies." She shook her head at him. That word tasted both bitter and hopeful on her tongue. "This may be the first time you have ever been at least somewhat gentle about declining someone's affection."

"Not everyone who has your back is your friend."

"Right." She finished her champagne, suddenly feeling strange. She just wanted to switch up her company for a little while. "We're a team, after all."

"I guess."

"Hey," someone shouted, and Effie was almost sure that it was Finnick, but it was hard to tell through the music and rigmarole all around the bar, "Katniss and Peeta are on TV!"

"Oh," Effie smiled delightfully, "I can't wait to see what she is wearing! I know Cinna got her the dress, but I haven't yet had the chance to look at it. I really hope it's worth it, Portia was talking about it _nonstop_ -"

" _You_ are talking nonstop as well," he remarked, getting a hit in his biceps as a reward, along with a _shh_.

Everyone's eyes were on the TV screen and the mumbling that was filling the room died down enough so they could listen. It was truly an impressive sight, nobody could doubt that Katniss and Peeta looked nice together and here, all dressed up to the nines, they looked like they came straight from the page of a fashion magazine.

Katniss was wearing a long red strapless dress that was made out of several layers of a silky, shiny material that changed color from red to orange to yellow and then to white and back again when she moved and seemed incredibly light and ethereal as it didn't cling to her body but floated around her legs when she walked down the stairs. The warm color suited Katniss' darker complexion and her hair, up in a fancy bun instead of the casual braid that could usually be seen on her, complimented her face that looked healthier with a touch of a blush and highlighter and an actual smile on her lips, even if it was just for the cameras. Peeta, in a shirt in a hue of blue that was a few shades darker than his eyes and had rolled-up sleeves and with his hair combed back, looked handsome as always and fitted into the summer-like scenery of Cannes.

Peeta gently kept an arm around Katniss' waist as they waved to the crowds and posed for the photographers while the commenter was talking about their clothes and about Peeta's movie that was set to premiere tomorrow during an evening screening. One of the interviewers then targeted them and they welcomed her with smiles so cheerful it looked fake, especially on Katniss who rarely smiled at random people that approached her.

"Welcome to Cannes!" the unnaturally tanned woman with bleached blonde hair and heavy Valley accent trilled, then looked into the camera. "Hey everyone, I'm Jess Conners from _StarWham!_ , live from French Riviera, from the red carpet of the 70th year of the international Cannes Film Festival,and I'm about to talk to two of the hottest stars here, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!" She turned back to them, her excitement corresponding with the excitement of a kid on a Christmas morning. "Oh my gosh, I can't _believe_ this! You two are, like, this generation's biggest sensation right now. And you're here _together_!" She screeched. "How _come_?!"

Peeta looked at Katniss almost apologetically, because the girl seemed to be on the verge of bursting out laughing or breaking down and running away as fast as her designer heels allowed her. One glance at her tortured face, and he decided to take on the talking.

"It's kind of a birthday present for Kat," he explained with a slight smile, "I asked her to come. I've got a gorgeous date, don't I?"

"Yes, you _do_ ," the reported humored, looking at her dress in admiration. "What are you wearing tonight, Katniss?"

"Oh, well…" Katniss winced, looking down at her gown unhappily. "Uhm… a dress."

Jess Conners laughed so loudly that a few people turned their heads at her as they were passing her. " _A dress_. Katniss, you are hilarious."

"I mean," the girl's cheeks were probably reddening, but the blush was hiding it well, "it's from the costume designer for our next movie. His name's Cinna, he's awesome, isn't he?" She tugged at one of the many layers of the dress and let it fall back down. "I've never worn a more beautiful piece."

" _Gosh!_ " Jess exclaimed. "It looks like it's _burning_ when it moves. Katniss, show that to us!" The camera lingered on her dress. "Could you like, twirl or something?"

"Twirl?" Katniss said that as though it was the stupidest thing she had ever heard. She looked at Peeta in a _this is one big joke, right?_ manner, but he just let go of her silently and took a step back so the attention would focus on her. Reluctantly, and carefully so she wouldn't spring her ankle in those high heels she normally never wore, she twirled, once, twice, then a few times more, and her dress floated around her, lighter than air, easy to be mistaken for flames licking her tanned legs.

Jess started clapping while Peeta laughed, both watching her in amazement. When Katniss stopped, Peeta immediately reached out to her and she took his hand gratefully, cracking a giggle of her own, a light, girly giggle, a sound no one listening could recall ever hearing from her.

"That was so beautiful!" Jess said, shaking her head in amazement. "Awesome job, whoever made this miracle happen!" She took a few deep breaths, sounding as though she had just run a marathon. "Oh gosh. Alrighty, so, I'm about to leave you two now, but, I cannot help but ask – you two are together now?"

" _No_ ," Katniss hurried with her answer, "no, nothing like that. We're just friends."

"Right," Peeta spoke carefully but lightly, "I just couldn't get a date, so I had to take her."

All three of them laughed. "Oh, _I see_." Jess winked at him quite openly, not even bothering to be discreet about her flirting. "So, you're free then, right?"

"No, not really." Peeta looked away, growing uncomfortable as well.

"How come?" Jess pressured him. "You don't have a girlfriend? Oooh, _I see_. There's someone special at home, isn't there? A _crush_!"

He shook his head mysteriously. "Not at home, no."

Katniss looked up at him uncertainly.

"So, where?" Jess laughed with a slightly dumbed look on her face.

"Well…" Peeta hesitated before taking a deep breath. He looked at Katniss briefly and then back at Jess. His fingers caressed Katniss' bare shoulder lightly. "Let's just say my crush came here with me."

 _ii._

Tomorrow morning, with his head hurting a little and a heavy suitcase in his hand, Haymitch found himself in the lobby where Plutarch, Coin and Chaff were standing with burrowed brows and wrinkled foreheads, in a huddle above someone's laptop. When Plutarch looked up and saw him, he let out a sound of brief relief.

"Haymitch," Plutarch gestured for him to come closer, "I need to talk with you."

"What have I done wrong this time?" the other man grunted and followed Plutarch to the empty lobby's armchairs.

"Nothing, nothing," the director tried to sooth him, but Chaff and Coin's worried – or reproachful? – glares weren't corresponding with that, "where's Effie?"

"No idea," he replied grumpily. "Why?"

"I'm right here." They turned around. She stood there in a tight pastel purple pencil dress with a white boa over her shoulders and a cup of coffee in her hands, looking inhumanly well-rested this early in the morning, and was measuring them with her flawless brows raised. She hesitated when she saw the sickly look on Plutarch's face. It only now occurred to Haymitch how _pale_ he was. "What is going on?"

"We're…" Plutarch gestured towards the glass door that lead into the square pool area and they caught up. Haymitch had the chance to run away, because this smelled like trouble, but didn't take it, he just followed the two and pushed the door closed behind them. His eyes met Chaff's one more time and he attempted to gesture something at him – _what the fuck is going on?_ – but his friend waved it off which was apparently supposed to mean _just shut up and listen to him if you wanna know_. So he did. Him and Effie both sat down on one of the sunbeds next to each other, Plutarch slumped down on the other in front of them, and rubbed his temple tiredly.

"Plutarch, are you okay?" Effie asked worriedly. "I'm sorry, but you don't look very well."

He nodded weakly. "I'm fine, but… Katniss called. And mailed."

Haymitch felt his stomach contract. "What did she say?"

"That she quits."

They kept quiet as they processed it. Haymitch recovered first. "Quits?"

"What do you mean?" Effie exclaimed right after. " _Quits_? You mean, _for good_?"

"That's what she said." Plutarch sighed heavily. As Haymitch studied his face, he noticed something. This wasn't everything. There was more.

"She cannot just quit like this," Effie said firmly, "she has a deal with you. Not only is this so unfair, she is also violating a contract. One that both her and her legal representatives alike read and signed. She cannot drop out of this whenever she pleases!"

"I know," Plutarch shrugged. "She knows, too. But you should have heard it. She called me yesterday night, after the opening event, and I thought that she was just mad and that it would go away, but she's out of her mind. She mailed me at night and currently doesn't answer any calls or mails, but I talked to her manager and Peeta. She's not talking to him and she had apparently tried to book a flight to New York, but her manager stopped her."

"Wait," Haymitch slowly sorted it out in his head, "that's because of what Peeta said? That he likes her?"

"Yes."

"Because of that, she's dropping out?"

"Presumably, yes."

"She _can't_ ," Effie snapped again. "Plutarch, whatever she said, she has the _duty_ to come back here and do her job, regardless of what someone says about her. I honestly thought that she was more mature than this!"

Nobody said anything after that. This was, well, _shit_ , this was one hell of a fuckery. Haymitch studied the stone ground beneath his feet and Effie sipped her coffee quietly. It was like a punch in the stomach. Too sudden and unrealistic – of course, if someone calls you suddenly that they're dropping off a project everyone's already invested so much into, it gets to you. He didn't know what kind of a deal Coin had with Katniss, but probably something strict enough to ensure that _this_ exactly wouldn't happen. After all, Haymitch's own deal was unusual, and she agreed with it just so he would take the part. Coin was, before she was a generous and gifted producer, a smart businesswoman.

He wondered, given that there was a way for Katniss to abruptly end her deal like this, what would happen next. When Haymitch met up with Plutarch in New York, he told him that if Haymitch doesn't take this role, he'd have to stop this whole thing for good because the studio didn't have the money to postpone the shooting, and that was only in pre-production. Now, with a notable deal of the scenes shot, it was almost impossible that anyone would ever allow that to happen. It would mean having to reserve the same locations again, to get a new actress here, who might have different needs and requests, and to do all of it once more. Haymitch had no idea how much the movie has cost Coin so far but he was damn sure that enough to fight for Katniss to stay tooth and nail.

And that was apparently Plutarch's plan as well, because as desperate as he looked right now, he _always_ had a back-up plan. Nothing was ever totally hopeless. That was the experience of a man who was used to making decisions under pressure and uncompromisingly exploring new ways to get what he wanted. And if he couldn't find a way, he'd make one. Simple.

"I need you two to go there and convince her to stay."

" _What?_ " they said in unison that prompted them to look at each other warily.

"Pardon," Effie said, unsure, "but, what do you mean? You want us to fly to Cannes and-"

Plutarch nodded. "That's exactly that."

Haymitch shook his head in silent disbelief. "You've gotta be shitting me."

"Very well," Plutarch took it as a yes. "Effie, you were supposed to go to Cannes anyway, weren't you?"

Her face grew annoyed, as if she was sick of hearing this question. The plastic, fake-polite reply confirmed his theory of her having to answer it in every interview she did lately. "I was, but for personal reasons, I chose to focus on this movie and on my private life."

Haymitch rolled his eyes at that, turning back to Plutarch. "Hey, I'd love to help, but this is bullshit. She's got her manager there, she's not there alone, and we're pretty much the last people she'd want to see."

"Maybe sending Finnick or Jo-" Effie paused. "Maybe sending Finnick or someone else she'd be willing to listen to would be a better idea."

"I can't," Plutarch told her unhappily, "their schedules don't allow it. Yours do. There's a two day window for you to go there. Besides, I don't really believe anyone else with this. I would go myself if I could, trust me. But I just can't, and neither can Coin or Chaff. You two are somewhat responsible, you can convince her-"

"Don't take this the wrong way," Haymitch interrupted him, "I'm flattered, I really am. But she's not gonna listen to anyone, especially not me. Maybe Effie can go there alone. She can talk a hole into that poor girl's head on her own." She pouted but ignored this remark. "I'm telling you, give her time and space. She'll calm down."

"I don't think so," Plutarch opposed, "she seemed pretty decided."

"Plutarch, I'm really not the right person to convince someone to-"

"This isn't just my plea, it's also Coin's order. Neither of us can afford to just pack up and leave, but you two have time. We've already booked the tickets, and the hotel. We can financially compensate this. Effie," he looked at her with trust that made her drop her eyes. "Please."

"Of course," she said slowly and softly and placed her hand on Plutarch's shoulder calmingly. She didn't even bother to look at Haymitch. She was too devoted to this whole thing to ask for his opinion, she's proven that many times. "We're going. We will convince her to stay."

"What-"

Nobody paid any attention to Haymitch's weak protests. "Thank you," Plutarch said with relief so palpable, a certain sense of ease had grown upon Haymitch as well. "Thank you both so much. Let's get down to it. Your flight is at eleven, so you really should hurry. We'll call you a cab, don't bother with paying-"

"I'll pay that," Haymitch said somewhat defeatedly but promptly, brushing Plutarch's objections off, "I will, for the both of us."

Effie shot him a surprised look. "Well, thank you."

"I have one request," he added, already heading for his stuff.

Plutarch's face tensed. "Yes?"

"I want us to live in different hotels."

* * *

 _Soo, see you at French Riviera next week, I suppose! x_


End file.
